


The Best of Intentions

by Greenleaf66, Rainey657



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Adult Language, discussions about illegal drugs, situational abuse of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:06:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenleaf66/pseuds/Greenleaf66, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainey657/pseuds/Rainey657
Summary: Story is co-authored by Greenleaf66.Just when you think you have all the answers, the world smacks you right between the eyes. Chloe thought her life was going smoothly until she learned that Lucifer was exactly who he said he was, his father was God, heaven and hell existed and... that was only the beginning of Detective Meets Reality.





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Chapter 1**

 

Ghosts are very real.

Not the chain-clanking kind, bedecked in white sheets or clouds of plasmic vapor, haunting the halls of crumbling mansions and eerie dungeons, serenading guests with howls of existential angst. Nor the tragic lords and ladies of romantic medieval castles who threw themselves from the highest parapets while pining for lost loves.

No, the ghosts of the 21st  century are the echoes of very real long-dead men and women who shaped America and the world, for good or for ill. They are the instigators and exploiters of the gullible masses – followers who rarely question the word of someone who tells them what they want to hear. When alive, they were the creators of laws that permitted and encouraged slavery. They were the promoters of ‘manifest destiny’, financing the genocide of the Native American. They were the newspaper publishers who turned weak minds toward easy bigotry and exploited readers’ worst fears as they filled their own pockets. They were the lawmakers who realized that nothing unites like a common enemy – and used that fact to encourage voters to support them at the polls.

Lucifer Morningstar knew them well; one was St. Matthew, who, while arguing with St. Peter, ordered him to “Get thee behind me, Satan! Thou art an offense unto me: for thou savorest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men!”

At the time, the two were investigating the disappearance of the sacramental vino; Peter insisted it must have evaporated. Matthew, smelling his breath, disputed that conclusion, and they nearly came to blows. To be honest, it _was_ Friday night after a long week spent dodging persecutors and preaching to the terrified.

Unfortunately, the ‘terrified’ – much to Matthew’s disgust – were more concerned about being discovered by Roman soldiers than the state of their immortal souls. Rounding up a quorum for Shabbas was a near impossibility; they kept running off before Matthew could get out a single _Baruch atah Adonai_.

Another, Isaac of Caesarea, had never forgiven the Devil for “tricking” him into admitting that he just might possibly be incorrectly equating natural phenomenon with messages from God. “If Dad wants to tell you something, he’s pretty direct about it. You’ll _know_ ,” Lucifer explained. “A rainbow after a storm is not God approving of you taking a second wife!”

Isaac was, predictably, unhappy with that conclusion. Physics be damned, he _wanted_ a second (and much younger) wife. He even had one all lined up! Her parents were poor, he was willing to pay the bride price, and even though she was only nine years old (and a virgin, no less!) he was sure he could eventually get sons from her… and until then, wouldn’t it be fun to practice?

Lucifer, knowing a lunar eclipse was due, struck a bargain with the old fool: If the Moon hid her face from him before a fortnight was out he would forgo the underage marriage and void the contract. If he was wrong, Lucifer would give Isaac of Caesarea his young bride’s weight in gold. Unlike his hands and robe, Isaac’s greed goggles were sparkling clean. Visions of sufficient gold for a camel _and_ a separate tent for his grumpy first wife danced before his eyes and the bet was struck.

To his dismay, the Moon did indeed hide her face, the child was granted a reprieve from the marriage bed, and Isaac of Caesarea was left to the tender ministries of his now-vengeful spouse… his _only_ spouse. Lucifer walked away chuckling. Isaac pouted, sulked, and eventually put pen to papyrus, scratching out a chapter in what came to be known as the Book of Romans, 16:20: “And the God of peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly.”

Revenge. Well, if _he_ couldn’t manage it, perhaps someone else might.

Thanks to the bible, the oldest ghosts were the saints and prophets who became Christianity’s first public relations shills. Their exaggerations, creative license, confabulations and outright lies convinced billions of humans that instead of being the punisher of sins, the deliverer of karma, the yang to lifetimes of human yin, Lucifer was instead evil incarnate, the tempter of souls, the great seducer…

Now, wait just a minute! _That_ the Devil didn’t disagree with, although he would have put it more gracefully. No, he couldn’t argue with “great seducer.” The remainder, however, was slander of the very worst sort.

Many of the ghosts had been men of the cloth, religious zealots of every creed who used their moral power over others to promote their pet theories, gather the gullible and, not unoccasionally, enrich their personal coffers. The cautious, careful ones narrowly avoided being run out of town; the more bombastic among them frequently ended their careers being flogged in the streets. Eventually, the photogenic and theatrically inclined made their fortunes performing on the radio and before the cameras, casting out demons and ordering the lame to walk. And if headsets tuned to seldom-used radio frequencies manned by assistants made their “prophesies” more believable while increasing donations, few objected.

Lessons had been learned.

And Lucifer Morningstar learned along with them. He learned that any information, if presented properly, would be believed by the masses. Tell even the most egregious lie often enough and it becomes the “truth”. The word of authorities is rarely questioned.

And everyone loves a juicy story.

 

                      ***********************

 

Chloe was losing it, or just about to lose it. It was the day after Lucifer had killed Marcus Pierce and saved Chloe’s life... _again._ The precinct was akin to a beehive, officers buzzing as the day shift came in, those, like her, who had worked all night feeling drawn out and in shock at finding out their Lieutenant had actually been one of the bad guys. One of the _very_ bad guys.

And Lucifer was the Devil himself. She couldn’t even think about that now. Not now. She reached for one of the endless cups of coffee, actually wishing there was a way to take it intravenously, maybe it would work better… Her phone was ringing again and she gave a small eye-roll before answering. She hadn’t a clue just how much worse this day was going to get.

_Where were her keys? How much was in her checking account? Would they even take a check? Her credit cards had several thousand on them… would that be enough? Would they take a credit card? Oh, mom, what have you done?_

The detective was heading for the precinct door at full trot when her ex-husband managed to catch up with her. “Chloe, you can’t leave yet! They’re still interviewing us; you _have_ to be here.”

His face had aged overnight. His jaw sagged with grief and lines were forming around reddened eyes. It reminded her Dan had lost much more than a few hours’ sleep. “I’ve already given my statement,” she told him. “Lucifer is in there now.”

“How’s his arm doing? I guess you’ve been worried about him...”

“ _ **It’s not Lucifer!!”**_ Too loud; several heads turned. _D_ _ial it down, girl._

“Dan, it’s not Lucifer. I mean, it _is_ , but something is going on with my mom!”

Blessed distraction. For a few seconds, Dan Espinoza was able to pull his mind away from the agonizing loss of the woman he had begun to love. “What about Penny? Is she hurt? What’s going on?”

 _Oh, Dan. you good, decent man…_ Chloe shook her head. “She’s not in the hospital, and I don’t think she’s hurt that way. It’s worse.”

Dan was baffled. She was going to have to tell him what little she knew. Why were the words so damn hard to say?

 _Charlotte_ would have known what to do. Years spent as a high-powered defense attorney had made her an expert on dealing with the intricacies of the criminal justice system. Charlotte would have been the best source for information on how to arrange bail for Penelope Decker, Drug Dealer… _R_ _eally, mom? YOU??_

But Charlotte was dead, with Marcus Pierce’s bullets in her body. What used to be Charlotte was lying on a metal tray at the county coroner’s office. Charlotte’s children were motherless. Charlotte’s soon-to-be ex-husband was a widower.

And Dan, who had once been Chloe’s husband (and, she used to think, the love of her life), the loving if occasionally unreliable father of their daughter, had fallen head over heels for Charlotte and now had nothing to remember her by. Just a pristine waffle iron, never used, and now lying broken on the floor of Charlotte’s apartment amidst the glass of her shattered dining room table.

Chloe had to remember that. Charlotte had lost her _life_ . Dan had lost his _love_ . All she had lost… _were her delusions._

 _Lucifer_ wasn’t delusional. He didn’t just _believe_ he was the devil, he _was_ the Devil! As John Decker had said (when he thought his young daughter wasn’t around to hear him), “Well, that’s another great idea down the shitter.”

And, now, she had to focus on yet _one more_ problem, something that was perhaps less significant than the fact that God was real and hell was… _Lucifer’s home?_

 _No._ Later. Prioritize, Chloe. First things first. Right now, hell was her mother sitting in federal lock-up waiting to be bailed out.

Chloe shuddered, grabbing Dan’s arm and leading him to a couple of vacant seats near the door. In as few words as possible she summed up the issue, repeated Penelope’s instructions (“Get me out of here!”) and hit him up to be a donor for his soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law’s bail money.

Dan’s eyes kept widening as he realized the extent of the trouble that was in the can Penelope Decker had opened up. Chloe soon ran out of hows, whys and whos, and wrapped up the story by asking where the hell the federal holding pen was located, as the address was unfamiliar to her and her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold her phone.

Dan keyed in the address, looked at the map and turned to her with an unbelieving expression. “It’s down in National City – that’s on the border with Mexico!” The two detectives simultaneously realized the formerly firm precinct floor had fallen beneath their feet. “Penny must have been busted by Homeland Security; that means she was bringing drugs into the US,” he whispered.

“Oh, Chloe, this is _bad!_ ”

 

 

 

**Chapter 2**

 

Lucifer was giving his official statement, but his mind kept wandering to the part of the story that he wasn’t telling the officers. The part that only Chloe knew.

 _It’s all true…..all of it!_ The look of wide-eyed shock on his Detective’s beautiful face. He thought over the previous day’s events, wondering if Chloe had changed her mind and wishing that he could actually read human minds.

She had not fled in terror at seeing him, though she had been stunned by the sight of his devil-face. The look on her face had been enough to cool his killing rage to a low simmer and with concern for her mental well-being paramount, he was able to revert to his human form as she stood there watching him.

For once he found himself at a complete loss for words, caught between wanting to just hold her and an uncomfortable sense of dread at how she would respond when her shock wore off. When she realized what he was.

But they heard police sirens moments later and the loft had suddenly been filled with officers in SWAT gear and a half a dozen of Ella’s forensics team.

Besides Cain, there were four dead, one of whom was a junior police officer only a couple of years out of the academy. Once Ella had a look around, it was obvious that they would be working all night.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dan had commented as he scanned the loft. “What the _hell happened here?”_ There were bullet holes everywhere, paintings shot through, statues crumbled, blood and marble dust smeared across the entire room.

And feathers. Lots of bloodied white feathers.

Dan noted the top of Lucifer’s arm where Pierce had got in his one good jab. “You’re oozing blood, man! You’d better let the medics check you out.”

It was that simple statement that finally pulled Chloe back into full-functioning mode and she came to stand beside the devil, concern on her face as she looked at his arm. She hadn’t seen him pull Maze’s blade from Pierce’s corpse, and the arrival of the cavalry had given him enough time to grab the broken-off end of a trident lying near a now-shattered statue of Poseidon and jab it into the hole in Pierce’s chest.

When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were more worried than fearful. “That’s a nasty gash,” she said quietly, then tentatively raised her left hand to stroke his cheek. “We’ll talk later, Lucifer,” it was almost a whisper. “I think you know that I have a thousand questions…”

He nodded, feeling suddenly buoyed by her lack of fear and reassured by her gentleness as she told him “Go get that seen to, you can give your statement later or tomorrow at the station. I have to stay here and, well...” she waved an arm at the chaos.

As he turned to leave, an impulse made her grab his hand. “You saved my life. _Again_ . I’m not sure quite how you did it, or why either of us is alive right now, and you _ARE_ going to tell me what happened after I came to on the roof.”

He nodded and gave her a halfhearted smile, while inside he felt a flush of relief.

But she hadn’t called him that night, just sent a brief text to say she’d meet him at the station in the morning. He sat alone on the terrace of his penthouse, sipping scotch and idly smoking a _Sobranie_. He liked the bite of the black Russian tobacco, and as he took a deep drag and thought of what might be going through his detective's mind, now that she knew his true identity.

 

                    *****************************

 

As soon as Lucifer had finished giving his statement the following afternoon, he went looking for his detective and spotted her talking to The Douche. She was obviously upset, her face pale. He could hear their raised voices and then both of them went quiet.

He heard Dan telling her “Oh, Chloe, this is _bad!”_

“Daniel? Detective? What is 'bad?'”

Chloe looked at him, her eyes welling up. “It’s my mother. She’s been arrested at the Mexican border for drugs!” He saw the tremble of her jaw as she tried to control herself and knew she was not making an uncharacteristic joke.

Dan was glaring at him, something in the man’s expression clearly accusatory. Lucifer ignored him, instead moving next to his detective. “Is there any way that I can help, Chloe?” he asked softly.

“Please, would you come with me to National City? I have to find out what’s going on, what they want to get mom out. I don’t even know if they’ll give her bail, I have to find a lawyer and, well, I just can’t, I mean... I don’t know what to do!”

She reached out for him and he held her as she struggled for control.

“Of course I’ll come with you,” he whispered as he stroked her hair and felt her shaking stop. “We’re partners, after all.”

 

                    **********************

 

The partners began bickering seconds after leaving the precinct parking lot.

Lucifer’s Corvette was too small to hold three adults and Chloe was _not_ coming back from National City without her mother in tow. Lucifer insisted he had accounted for Penelope’s return and nobody would be required to travel perched on the luggage railing while chittering like a monkey.

Chloe failed to find this amusing, attempted to access a street map for their destination, dropped her phone into the inaccessible space between the bucket seats, twisted her shoulder trying to retrieve it and burst into tears that quickly became wracking sobs.

Lucifer’s first instinct was to comfort his partner with facts and statistics – the kind provided by criminal defense attorneys indicating first-time drug offenders rarely spend more than 18 months in a correctional institution. For some reason, he felt this information might not be received in the spirit it was given, and wisely chose to – as Beatrice described the maneuver – zip his lip.

Instead, he pulled the car over and put a gentle hand on his detective’s back and let her cry it out. He had learned long ago that human females frequently resorted to excessive displays of emotional moisture as a way to cope with an overload of mental trauma. Thus, Lucifer was always ready with a pristine white handkerchief to assist in drying human tears. The fact that his detective preferred to open up _her_ emotional channels while in his (and _only_ his!) company left a warm glow deep in the Devil’s chest.

A traumatized Chloe Decker failed to notice that Lucifer was texting at superhuman speed while stroking her shoulders as she sobbed. He only put the phone away when her tears subsided, handing her a second clean white square of fabric.

 _...w_ _here does he keep them? the way i've been going through those_ _today_ _…_

She was embarrassed by her ‘crying female’ collapse. She was a homicide detective, damn it! Homicide detectives are stoic. They are Dirty Harrys. They do not cry at minor inconveniences!

Chloe Decker blew her dripping nose with a mighty honk, causing Lucifer to flinch dramatically and raise his eyebrows at her. He was rewarded with a small but genuine watery smile and a squeeze from her hand – fortunately not the hand holding the soggy hanky.

“Shall we continue with the rescue of the fair Penelope?” he queried.

Chloe nodded, honked once again, and the duo pulled back into traffic. But, as usual, all was not copacetic when the Devil was behind the wheel. “Lucifer, the I-5 is the fastest way down there. Where are you taking us?”

Lucifer was headed in the opposite direction from their intended goal. “Detective, what time is it?”

Chloe looked at her watch. “Uh… 4 pm. What does that have to do with you going the wrong way?”

The Devil would not be dissuaded from their newest round of 20 Questions. “And what happens every day at 4 pm?”

Chloe was uninterested in participating. “ _LUCIFER!_ Take me to National City or let me out of this car!”

In the Devil’s opinion, for someone who had lived her entire life in Southern California Chloe Decker was woefully forgetful of what was commonly referred to as ‘The Parking Lot’.

“My dear, sometimes the quickest way is not the most direct way. May I present...” And Lucifer Morningstar waved a casual hand at what appeared to be a long and immobile line of vehicles waiting patiently for their drivers to return.

“Oh. Oh, fuck. _FUCK!!_ ” She slammed her hand down on the Corvette’s innocent dash.

Rush hour in Southern California. Inescapable, unless you sported Luciferian wings or were on a motorcycle and willing to risk life and limb white-lining your way through stalled traffic. Skateboarders were making better time.

“Never fear; the Devil is here!” Lucifer was never one to resist wordplay during someone else’s crisis. He whipped the car off the access ramp (which would have put them well on their way to Sacramento) and continued to drive eastward.

The Detective gritted her teeth and stewed.

“So. Your father really is… _God?_ Old man, long white beard, sitting up in the clouds, listening to an endless loop of harp music? Does he ever answer anyone’s prayers? Which church is his? What about children who starve to death?

“Lucifer, what does your dad _want_ from us?”

He knew these questions were coming, but it still irked him. Why did everyone want to know about dear old Dad? Why didn’t anyone ask him about the best sex he’d ever had? His favorite hobbies? Where he bought his shoes? But, no, they wanted answers to questions that had plagued the species ever since they came down out of the trees in eastern Africa.

What _does_ God want?

Lucifer sighed. “He wants us to be nice to each other. As to everything else, your guess is as good as mine.

“Chloe, I’m the _Devil_ , remember? Dad and I haven’t spoken since he threw me out. Now, ask me something I can answer.”

Chloe was staring out the window. “Lucifer?”

 _Finally! here it comes…_ “Yes, my dear?”

“Why are we at the airport?”

 

                 ****************

 

Only Lucifer Morningstar. Only her partner would help with her mother’s rescue by chartering a private plane, flying both of them to National City (and did the chatty pilot _have_ to mention that their plane was barely within the size limits of that town’s tiny municipal runway?) and having a limo ready and waiting for a run to the border.

Less than an hour after they left the precinct, the pair found themselves waiting in what appeared to be a rundown office building populated with hard-eyed gun-toting men who looked like escapees from the local muscle gym. Lucifer’s conspicuous affluence, in his expensive Italian suit and Louboutins, drew cold stares from the gun-toters; she knew they pegged him for a major cartel boss showing up to bail out his… mother?

The detective met their hostile looks with one of her own, and most of the critics managed to remember important business elsewhere rather than remain eye-to-eye with the bossman’s girlfriend. She could almost hear the silent threats of “we’ll get you later, fella” emanating off the Homeland Security goons. She definitely heard Penelope, her bright laugh and cheery conversation echoing through the building. Was she stopping to… _sign autographs? Mom!!_

Her mother’s 4” heels tap-tapped to the reception door. “I’ll be at Comic-Con in San Diego this fall; IM me and I’ll get you tickets! Oh, you’ve all been such sweethearts – thanks ever for your kindness. Mike, tell your daughter the Warrior Princess sends her a kiss… and here’s _my_ daughter and her beau!

“Chloe, love! And you brought Lucifer, the best-looking man in LA!!

Penelope was “on” and performing her heart out. Rather than the beaten, exhausted victim Chloe was expecting, Boudicca-Queen-of-the-Iceani strutted out in all her glory, wrapping Chloe in a hug and smiling fit to kill. Her daughter was close to that state, herself. “ _Mother!_ What happened?”

“Oh, we can discuss it in the car. I’m ready for a drink, and the government doesn’t allow alcohol in the building. Is there a nice bar in the area…?”

She grabbed Lucifer by the arm and headed for the door, tossing a wave back toward a group of admirers who blew kisses and threw sad-eyed salutes back at the first real star they’d ever booked.

Chloe missed seeing how Penny’s grip tightened on the Devil as she leaned into him, and Lucifer moved to shelter her from law enforcement’s view. Once out the door, she slumped and gasped “Get me into the car, now!” Her face was suddenly gray with exhaustion and the sparkle and fizz of the Hollywood feature player was nowhere to be found.

Lucifer swung her into his arms and hurried to the limo, tucking Penelope into the back seat and quickly pouring her a drink. Chloe ran behind him, slamming her door and fixing her mother with a gimlet eye. “Okay, Mom, let’s hear it. What did you do??”

Lucifer’s voice changed. “Back off, Detective. Penelope isn’t well.”

Penelope’s smile was wan and strained. “No, she’s not.” She emptied the glass and motioned for another. “Hit me again, darling. And bless you, whatever you are.”

It was a comment that wouldn’t have made sense to Chloe one week earlier. But since seeing her partner’s ‘devil face’ her perceptions had been significantly altered. What did her mother mean by “ _what_ ever you are”? She couldn’t possibly have guessed…

Penelope smoothly twisted a button free from her blouse and popped it into her mouth. Before the Devil or the Detective could say a word she swallowed it and took a deep breath, still clutching Lucifer’s hand as if her life depended on it. “I don’t know how you got here so quickly, but thank you. _Thank you!_ I didn’t have another 10 minutes left. Not as young, and all that shit.

“They never stopped watching me; even had a female officer accompany me to the toilet. Pain meds wore off half an hour ago.”

Chloe’s worst fears were realized. “Mom! Are you a drug addict? We can get you help, get you into a program! You don’t have to live like this.”

Penelope smiled. “Chloe, baby, I’m drug _dependent_ , not drug _addicted_. And there is no ‘help’. This is how I live now. This is as good as it gets.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t want to worry you; I thought I could handle it on my own. Some of the others do. I didn’t want to call you, but there isn’t anyone else.”

Chloe was appalled. How could this happen to someone as wary as Penelope of the traps fame sets for those who stumble on what seems to be the path to fortune and success? The detective had grown up listening to Penelope’s stories about casting couches and parties that turned into drug- and alcohol-fueled orgies. She knew second-hand about the wreckage a careless lifestyle could create, and the sorrow of promising careers and mighty talents turned into rubble. For her mother to fall victim… impossible!

Penelope was breathing through her nose and shivering. Lucifer wrapped her in his jacket and pulled her into the curve of his body. He stroked her hair and whispered “Feel it working; feel the warm spreading through you, you’re safe and protected,” as he stared at Chloe over her mother’s head. His lips soundlessly formed the word “sick” and he shook his head while whispering “not drugs.”

 

                       *********************************

 

Chloe had been coldly focused when Marcus Pierce had pointed his automatic at her. Her heart had been pumping ice water when she stepped between Lucifer and. _.. C_ _ain, not Marcus, Cain_...the man who was determined to kill her partner, and drew her own gun.

She had felt her heart race in anxiety at the sound of gunfire as she stood on the roof, helpless to immediately defend Lucifer from the homicidal sociopath who had been their lieutenant. And almost her husband.

But what she felt now was helpless terror. The ‘falling elevator’ sensation. Unreasoning fear. Something was very wrong with her mother; strong, independent Penny Decker. Detective Chloe Decker was on the edge of panic. _What was wrong with her mom?_

The trip back to LAX was brief. Chloe sat next to her mother, wanting very much to question her, but acknowledging Penny’s increasing drowsiness as the painkiller kicked in. She barely noticed Lucifer making some hurried calls.

And then it hit her. “Lucifer?” She looked at her partner. “About my mother’s bail?”

He simply smiled. “Detective, don’t worry about that. What’s important is that you get her home.”

The landing procedure began before she could question him further. Chloe made sure her mother’s seatbelt was secure, then her own, as the Lear began its descent and Penelope Decker woke.

She looked over at Lucifer in the seat across from her. “I forgot to ask: you have a private jet?”

“Actually, this belongs to an old acquaintance of mine. He doesn’t use it very often, but he always keeps it fueled and ready to go in case of an emergency. He owes me a favor or two and he was happy to lend it to us”

Chloe thought: _Lucifer and his favors. Yes of course. Lucifer knew some powerful people, people with money to burn, no doubt._

The devil was solicitous once they landed, helping Penny to her somewhat unsteady feet and offering his arm to lean on as they made their way down the ramp.

The Lear was parked at one of the outlying hangars reserved for private aircraft. The Corvette was still where they had left it (unlocked, of course) a couple of hours earlier, and there was now a small black limousine parked next to it on the tarmac.

“I took the liberty of calling for a car to take the two of you home,” the Devil told the Detective as he guided Penelope to the waiting vehicle. “I’ll make my own way back to Lux; you just take care of your mother.

“I’ll call you later. There’s someone I have to see on the way back, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

He made sure that Penny was seated as comfortably as possible, then began fishing in his jacket pocket. He pulled out what looked like an old style cigarette case, though it was somewhat more compact than the silver art deco version he used for his Sobranies. Examining the contents, he smiled with a muttered “ _A_ _ha!_ There you are,” and selected a few of what Chloe realized were pills, pressing them into Penelope’s hand.

“What are you giving her?” Chloe needed to know, because... well, with Lucifer it could really be any damn thing.

“Don’t worry, detective; I’m not poisoning Penelope. There’s a few Dilaudid and a couple of Percocet – just in case she needs them to get through the next couple of days.”

“Where did you get those?”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “Do you really need to know that, _detective_? Your mother obviously needs them and I just happen to have a few…..part of my urban survival kit. I’d forgotten they were even in this jacket; haven’t worn it for awhile.”

The detective shook her head and muttered “ _Lucifer,_ ” her version of a verbal eyeroll, but Penny was smiling at him. “My rescuer,” she beamed in real gratitude, and turning to Chloe “This one is a keeper, honey. The man comes prepared!”

Lucifer nodded cheerfully. “You don’t seem to have too many more buttons on that shirt, and I’m assuming the rest of your stash was confiscated.” He reacted with mock pain as Chloe gave him an _‘I’ll deal with you later, mister’_ punch on the arm.

“I’ll take that as my cue,” he said, exiting the back of the limo over Chloe’s protests. “Now off you go!” And the Devil shut the vehicle's door before Chloe could say anything else.

Lucifer had been right. No matter what she thought, it had to wait. Her mother was the most important person at this very moment. Once the limo was on the way to the beach house, Chloe punched in Dan’s number.

“Sorry,” she told him, “I need to stay with Mom tonight...”

“You were able to get her out?” His voice was clearly surprised.

“Well, not _exactly._ Lucifer paid her bail…It’s a long story; I’ll fill you in later. My mom isn’t in a good way, Dan; I really have to be with her.” She silenced her mother’s protest with a wave, “Can you stay with Trixie tonight?”

“Already at your place. She says ‘hi’ to your mom. I told her about _the accident_ ,” he said meaningfully, “but that grandma is okay and you’ve gone to pick her up at the hospital. Trix is just finishing her homework and I’m going to order in a pizza. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with our girl. I know where the extra blankets are – I’ll just crash on the couch.”

He didn’t see Chloe’s relief, but he heard the gratitude in her voice. “Dan, you really are the best. I’ve got to find out what happened with Mom and what the _hell_ she was doing in Mexico buying drugs. And, I... uh, well, I’m glad you’re there. No Maze?”

“Nope, no Maze. But pizza and a movie with our kid… maybe that’s just what _I_ need today. I hope your Mom’s okay.”

For the present, yes, Penelope Decker was okay. But her court hearing was in two weeks and she was going to need a good lawyer. _A damned good one._

 

 

 

**Chapter 3**

 

It had been a productive day, the kind Penelope Decker liked best. Hosting workshops at _FantasyCon 2016_ took a tremendous amount of energy, but the loyalty and devotion coming from the fans, the waves of applause, the awe-struck expressions of joy appearing on Millennial ( _was I ever that young?_ ) and Boomer faces alike converted her hurting feet and sore back into minor distractions.

“You are the future of the _genres_ we love,” she explained, concluded her last seminar of the evening. “ _You_ follow our characters, _you_ write the fan-fics that keep them alive, _you_ buy the tickets that turn our movies into blockbusters. We depend on you as much as you depend on us. We couldn’t do what we do if not for you. We work our hearts out for you. Our characters come to life because of _you_.

“Now, I want you to give yourselves and each other a big round of applause, because we’re doing this together. C’mon, you wonderful fans, ON YOUR FEET!!”

Penny spread her arms wide and blew kisses at the audience. This was not a canned speech – she truly did love and appreciate every delighted attendee at every convention. Her words were heartfelt; without their fans the cast and crew’s grueling work would be no more meaningful than home movies consigned to the back of a dusty garage. She knew when she was making them that these films weren’t potential Oscar winners; that _genre_ awards were considered a joke by self-proclaimed film _aficionados_.

Penelope Decker didn’t care. She loved acting, loved making movies, loved being recognized on the street (admittedly, something that happened less often as she got older). And she most loved the excitement on the faces of the fans, the people (all ages, all races, and, now, all _genders!_ ) who found a way to live – if only for a few hours -- the lives they knew they were meant for.

She occasionally went to fan conventions “in drag”, disguised as a suburban grandmother enjoying her second childhood. Costumes and make-up helped keep her identity secret; as a closeted Game of Thrones devotee, Penny delighted in wearing the elaborate brocade-and-velvet gowns of Kings Landing and the deliciously seductive silks she was sure highborn Dorne aristocrats donned to sip tea and Arbor Gold while scheming against their rulers. If not for being an animal rights supporter, the eldest of the Decker women was positive those Wilding north-of-the-Wall furs would feel absolutely _mahvelous_ on bare skin.

So she spent her free time at the conventions wandering the exhibit booths and hotel halls, chatting with guests and signing autographs until her hand refused to hold a pen. Selfies (and dodging selfie sticks) were a given; there must be a million photos of Penelope Decker smiling next to happy fans. She cherished them all and had no patience with actors who whined about their “lack of privacy”.

“You gave up your right to privacy when you took that role you were so happy to get!” she’d scolded one arrogant wanna-be star whose opinion of his fame was already several steps ahead of reality.

“Our workday is just beginning after the last scene is shot. You like your salary? I noticed you’re driving a new car; well, your privacy-violating fans paid for it!”

When he attempted to defend himself Penny finished the conversation with “Very few actors are good enough to play a role, go home and forget about it. Think you’re better than Tony Hopkins? Tony doesn’t resent his fans... “ _Hannibal Lector! Silence of the Lambs! Westworld!_ ” she hissed through clenched teeth at his blank expression, silently adding _you moron._ “Our characters don’t go away after we create them. And _we_ don’t even create them, we _interpret_ them.”

She patted his hand. “Honey, there’s always someone else ready to prove they can do it better than we can. You have to be out there putting your face behind your character’s name, because nobody forgets an actor faster than the audience.

“And taking the audience for granted is the biggest mistake any performer can make!”

Penelope Decker had made more than a few mistakes in her life and regretted many of them, but she was determined never to take her fans for granted. Those who recognized her during one of her occasional convention coffee breaks were invited to pull up a chair and talk about the movies they loved. She was known and celebrated in online fanzines for the impromptu round-table discussions that sprang up whenever she needed to kick her shoes off and rest her aching feet.

Not counting snapshots of Chloe, Trixie and John, her all-time favorite photo was of herself surrounded by Klingons, dragonriders, a reptilian something-or-other, two buxom maidens (one desperately in need of a good bra) in full armor and wearing phasers on their ample hips, a goat sporting a Steampunk top hat and a cardboard sword, someone she assumed was a Dothraki warrior (desperately in need of a jockstrap… _who dressed these kids?_ ) and an older gentleman bearing a striking resemblance to Tom Baker of Dr. Who fame.

Penelope was in her element: Everyone was smiling! Everyone was happy! This was how a fan-con _should_ be run!

But even the grandest of celebrations, the jolliest of events, can wear on a body, and by 11 pm Penny was stretched out on her hotel’s king-sized bed waiting for room service to deliver an evening snack. The expected knock came and she took two steps to the door when her legs crumpled, spilling her to the floor in an ungainly heap. Past experience performing many of her own stunts saved her from what could have resulted in cracked bones and torn muscles, but as she scrambled to her feet she wondered how her fall had happened. Well, it was late and she was tired. And, as her own mother used to say, “no spring chicken.”

The next day she fell again.

Two falls the day after that left the actor with a bruised forehead. Something wasn’t right.

 

*********************

 

“The falls were more annoying than anything,” she had told her daughter and Lucifer on the flight back to Los Angeles. “The pain was what bothered me.”

Chloe and her mum were sitting at the beach house, finishing the conversation they’d begun earlier.

The pain hadn’t seemed to bother her for the rest of the flight, Chloe thought. It required all the persuasive skills the Devil possessed to get Penelope Decker to remain seated and not attempt to talk the pilot into doing barrel rolls and loops on their way home. Lucifer had dangled the promise of a third drink if she would, as her daughter put it, _just sit down and_ _**behave**_!

Sighing in disgust at their stuffy insistence on details, Penny agreed to cooperate and explain her physical distress. But only if Chloe agreed not to cry.

“It took six months of tests before my neurologist decided what was wrong with me,” she had told them, before peacefully smiling out the window, seemingly somewhere else entirely.

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Don’t you have something else to tell me?”

“What, honey? _Oh!_ Are you and Lucifer getting _married_? Well, _congratulations_! You two are _adorable_ together! You’re _so_ cute… just look at you!!”

“MOM!!”

“ _WHAT??_ _”_

Chloe buried her face in her hands. How had her dad put up with this for so many years? She didn’t dare look over at her partner. If that bastard was smirking…

“Mom. What. Did. The. Doctor. Say. Is. Wrong. With. You.”

Penelope arched one immaculately groomed eyebrow at Lucifer, as if to say ‘see what I have to put up with?’ Lucifer bit his tongue until it bled; he knew that would hurt less than a sharp elbow to the ribs from his Detective, should he say the wrong thing. Even though there were _so_ _many_ things he wanted to say at the moment (all of them undoubtedly “wrong”).

“Oh. Well.” Penelope sighed. “He said I have _myalgic encephalomyelitis_.”

To Chloe, it sounded as if her mother had suddenly suffered a stroke. Lucifer, however, winced. “Oh, Penelope!” He took her hand and kissed it. “That’s bad!”

Chloe Decker’s patience was stretched beyond endurance. “What does it _mean_ , Mom? Whatever you said tells me nothing! And what does that have to do with you getting arrested?”

The answer was ‘everything’. According to her doctor, _myalgic encephalomyelitis_ , or ME, used to be considered rare. But that was only because most physicians had never heard of it and didn’t know how to diagnose it. As with many neurological disorders, everyone’s symptoms differed slightly, and the eventual extent of the nerve damage ranged from minor with minimal disability to leaving victims entirely bedridden and living in agony. Some experienced numbness rather than pain; they were the lucky ones.

Penelope Decker was not among them.

“It’s relapsing/remitting. I always have pain, and some weeks I have trouble walking; right now, the disability part is in remission,” she explained. “But I’m not giving up my heels until they take them off my cold, dead feet!”

Penny loved shoes. Chloe remembered clomping around the house in her mother’s pumps, wrapped in a lace tablecloth and pretending she was a princess venturing out to slay a dragon.

The role of the “dragon” had been assigned to The Kraken, her mother’s cranky Chihuahua. The Kraken bit when annoyed, bit when awakened, bit when fed, not fed, petted, ignored… He was not a particularly pleasant animal and Chloe had developed a lifelong suspicion of small, yappy canines after he bit her squarely on the butt when she tried to sit down...

“NEXT to him! I was _not_ trying to sit ON him!!”

Unfortunately, losing her ability to wear fashionable shoes was not Penny Decker’s primary problem. ME often caused nerve pain, among the most difficult to treat successfully. And it occurred at a time in history when the country had once again fallen victim to what her physician termed an “opioid hysteria.”

 

 

                 *******************

  


 

*********************

 

That evening, while a sleepless Chloe Decker tossed and turned, Lucifer sat on his balcony and remembered the story of the ghosts that sent Penelope Decker on a drug-buying mission to Mexico.

It had begun nearly a century earlier with a sound like dark honey licked off a razor blade. … _warm, delicious and filled with pain, the voice sang of strange fruit hanging from the trees..._ and drew Lucifer Morningstar out of Hell to hear her sing.

Lady Day. Unwanted child, rape victim, battered woman, heroin addict. Brilliant artist. A voice full of ghosts, screaming of what had been done in the dark; hidden and yet not, because the victims would not be silent. A voice promising to free a soul, seduce a heart…

The devil had never heard anything like it. He remained through two sets, sent a bottle of the club’s finest to her room, and only then learned she was not welcome in the hotel as a guest. Only as an entertainer. Or a maid, whose job it was to clean toilets and changed sheets soiled with the leavings of those with whiter skin than hers.

He was enraged, but could do nothing at the time. When he returned, she had been broken by men who hated what she stood for, hated that she turned to the only release from pain available to her. They punished her, ruined her health, literally tortured Lady Day, but they could not stop her singing.

The Devil vowed vengeance; he learned the names of those who betrayed her and those who used her. It was then that Lucifer first heard of Harry Anslinger, who would later become a ghost to bedeviled America long after the man himself had died, broken and alone, the very heroin he claimed to loathe sent flowing through his veins by his own hand.

Anslinger was the leader of Lady Day's abusers, whose disgust for those who were not like them in appearance and values burned white-hot. And, as always, behind that hatred hid fear – fear of losing their place in the world, fear of change, fear of the many things they did not understand. Anslinger was a bull of a man who firmly believed his security rested in the cold arms of Law and Order. The law of the land was his sacred totem. In it was safety and surety, the strength of knowing what was expected and the power to fulfill that expectation, then go above and beyond.

It was a time when those in power feared ambiguity and distrusted shades of gray. There was only right or wrong, black or white for them and for Anslinger. But the world was changing around them as the industrial and technical revolutions sent a whirlwind tearing through established patterns of behavior.

Great wealth and the power that followed it was won, lost and occasionally regained in the space of a breath. Isolated cultures discovered they sat on wildly valuable resources and saw their good fortune as an opportunity to break free of the stifling societal ropes that had bound them for centuries.

Thus began another of the world’s great diasporas, but rather than fleeing war or climate change (often, both at the same time) people from every corner of the Earth began flowing out to meet, mingle, trade, do business and celebrate together. They brought their customs, values and beliefs with them, and every place they touched was changed.

Lucifer poured himself another two fingers of his favorite scotch. As the Macallan 55 slithered down his throat he let his mind continue its ruminations, back to what was probably the beginning of the crisis in which Penelope Decker currently found herself enmeshed...

When Prohibition was enacted, the purported goal was to end alcoholic inebriation, to get drunkards out of the bars and back in their homes and the loving arms of family. “Sober and productive” was the name of the game, and teatotalers firmly believed that without alcoholic beverages once-worthless drunks would become the upright church-going Christian folk Lucifer’s Dad wanted them to be.

The Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU – and a starchier clutch of do-gooders had rarely been seen) was horrified at the stories of intoxicated husbands and fathers neglecting home and hearth in favor of the seamier pleasures of cheap booze and cheaper women. And it was entirely the fault of the Demon Rum. Or gin. Or beer, whiskey, bourbon… _shut it all down!!_

In truth, no one truly wants a law ruling their personal lives, only a rule book they can use to punish others. The Devil had never understood why people in general and Americans in particular despise those who seek out “unearned” pleasure, even though it may lead to the user's eventual detriment.

However, he’d found Americans to be an impatient lot, with no desire to wait for anything. There had been earlier attempts, but Prohibition was the first powerful strike against libertines of the WC Fields persuasion. When eventually recognized for the disaster it was, the 21st  Amendment was enacted and the urge to punish imbibers should have retired in well-deserved defeat.

But Round Two began in the early 1930s thanks to Anslinger, a Prohibition agent who feared being put out of work by the legalization of alcohol following 13 years of his country’s disastrous Great Experiment. Anslinger should have joined better men than himself in the hopeless search for employment, but he’d had the wit to marry the daughter of the Secretary of the US Treasury. And his father-in-law did NOT want to see his precious little girl's husband on a bread line during the depths of the Depression. So after a quick conversation with J. Edgar Hoover, Harry was made head of the Federal Narcotics Bureau.

Spending government money on a new, unknown agency might not be popular with voters barely able to feed themselves and their families, so Anslinger was sent on a nation-wide series of lectures during which he ranted about the evils of cannabis and heroin. As usual, the majority of drug users were incorrectly assumed to have skin in varying tones of brown, yellow and black; this was the era of lynchings, and whites feared and hated minorities with a vengeance. They blamed them for the Depression, for cultural change they couldn’t understand, and were absolutely sure minority men were after their "white wimmin!!"

It was easy to conflate the supposedly "favorite" narcotics of other races with sexual aggression, and Harry Anslinger played to the back row with speaking tours, sermons and the movie "Reefer Madness". Yep, Lucifer mused, that bit of unintended hilarity was ol’ Harry's doing.

And, thanks to Anslinger and his FBN agents, anyone daring to rely on heroin or morphine as an escape from physical pain, mind-deadening boredom or the misery of daily existence in an unfriendly and unwelcoming culture quickly came to regret it.

 

 

********************

 

 

Detective Decker woke in her mother’s guest room the next morning no less worried than the night before.

As a law enforcement officer, Chloe Decker instinctively distrusted drugs of any sort. She’d investigated too many murder scenes where narcotics were scattered around bleeding bodies, helped soothe sobbing relatives of overdose victims or subdue stabbing suspects flying high on the latest batch of home-cooked methamphetamine to believe illegal drugs were useful for anything but causing grief and pain.

And yet… she saw the difference when her mother took pain medication, saw the old Penelope Decker return, watched the life come back into a woman who was obviously undergoing the tortures of the damned. Could everything she knew about opioids be wrong?

And why was she smelling waffles?

“ _Good morning,_ Detective!!” Her partner’s too-damned-cheerful morning voice boomed out as the sleep-sodden law enforcement officer stumbled into the kitchen.

It immediately got worse. “Hel _lo_ , darling!” Penelope chirped. “Sleep well?”

Chloe wasn’t positive she could survive two happy morning people without committing a homicide of her own, not when she’d gotten at most five hours sack time the night before. But… _waffles_ . And _bacon_. And coffee to die for, if her nose wasn’t lying. Annoying though he might be, Lucifer Morningstar could pull together a magnificent feast when properly motivated.

Chloe accepted a steaming cup of heaven from Penelope. She didn’t notice that her mother was drinking orange juice instead of the java that she herself always relied on to jumpstart the morning. Taking a sip, she realized this was Lucifer’s espresso blend, brewed only slightly less strong than the ‘instant launch’ he often started his own days with.

She shuffled off to the living room and plunked herself down on the sofa.

Her two annoyances promptly ignored her, picking up their conversational gossip session about a famous action star who her mother insisted wore “a girdle and a wig through the entire movie!”

To the detective’s disgust, her partner was the worst sort of fan boy, delighting in the movie trivia and image-deflating celebrity rumors that sold sleazy magazines at checkout lines.

“ _Seriously!_ ” Penny informed him. “He had this little pot gut, his butt sagged and was going bald – you’d never recognize him on the street. _And_ the producers finally learned to put it into his contract that he had to shower at least twice a week or nobody would go near him!”

Lucifer’s eyes got big and his mouth fell open in shock, forcing Chloe to hide her smirk behind the coffee cup. “NO! _That_ bad?”

“Worse,” her mother insisted. “The pig wouldn’t change his clothes, either. They stunk so bad we finally hid them when he was in costume and he had to drive home dressed like a 13th century warlord who got lost in a whore house!

“It was that or go naked, and he didn’t want anyone to see the way he let his body fall apart.”

She would swear on her life that Penelope and Lucifer _giggled_! Honestly, they were worse than a couple of teenage girls.

But, more important, where was her waffle? And another cup of that heavenly ( _no, wait, that would be ‘hellishly’)_ good brew.

They had to get to the station soon. _So much_ to deal with. She left the two giggling at the kitchen counter and headed off for a much needed shower.

 

****************

 

 

The day had begun so nicely, with the gourmet breakfast, Penelope feeling “ _much_ better, dear, thank you!” and her partner on his best behavior. Of course, it couldn’t last.

She directed that Pierce’s office be locked against all unauthorized entrances and Ella had backed her up, bless her bubbly heart. “Crime scene,” Lopez had darkly muttered as the maintenance worker popped the deadbolt and exchanged it for a new one, giving one key to Ella and the other to Chloe.

Detective Decker was determined to make sure whatever evidence had been left behind remained undisturbed. Chain of evidence and all that. Which raised the issue of who would be put in charge of their department. No doubt they’d send someone from the commissioner’s office. She wondered what poor fish they’d convince to clean up the mess Cain had made, and shook her head.

She took The Call after lunch. It was short, sweet, and frankly shocking. When her caller disconnected, Chloe put the phone down and face-palmed in disbelief. At first she had been delighted to hear the voice of their old lieutenant, Olivia Monroe. But Olivia had cut her off abruptly.

“I’m on my way over to the precinct, Decker. I have an announcement to make, so please assemble the troops. You’re about to get a temporary promotion.”

“What d'ya mean, Liv?”

“Internal Affairs is going to come down _hard._ I need someone I trust looking after things for awhile. And that someone is _you_. I’ll explain when I get there.” And the call was firmly disconnected before Chloe could even utter a word.

Great. Just _great_. Could this week get any worse? Charlotte had been murdered last Thursday. Friday they had moved as much of the evidence as they could to Lucifer’s penthouse.

Pierce had been killed on Monday, his body just one of the corpses now stinking up the morgue. Her mother had been arrested as an international drug trafficker on Tuesday. Dan was not doing well and it didn’t help that tomorrow was Charlotte’s funeral.

It was only Wednesday, and she _still_ hadn’t even had an opportunity to sit down with Lucifer and have The Conversation. Chloe had become so consumed by her mother’s immediate plight that she could think of nothing else.

Plus, now it seemed Dan had decided that Lucifer was responsible for Charlotte’s death, because it was Lucifer’s brother, Amenadiel, who Pierce was trying to kill. And Lucifer had known about Pierce’s criminal activities., making him, as far as Dan was concerned, the reason why Charlotte...

She wondered how much more coffee she could drink without getting an ulcer.

And now Internal Affairs was about to descend on the precinct with guns a'blazin' (figuratively) and throw them all into the boiling pot (also figuratively, she hoped).

 _And_ she hadn’t slept well since they had found Charlotte.

Her mother’s plight filled her head. Lucifer had told her not to worry, that he would help and she had calmed somewhat when he informed her that he had spoken to a lawyer who would take Penny’s case _pro bono._ Chloe realized she hadn’t even asked the lawyer’s name.

 _...n_ _ot sure how much thinner I can stretch myself..._ Her head went down on the desk. Just for a moment, just so she could think. No, so she could _stop_ thinking, just for a minute, only a minute…

“I gather that phone call was not information you wanted to hear?” Lucifer’s voice brought her back to her senses.

She looked up to find him standing over her and offering an iced latte she accepted gratefully. “You don’t seem to be quite yourself, my dear detective.”

 _..._ _‘Quite myself?_ ' _that’s rich, coming from you..._ “I’m okay,” she said. “For the moment. In less than half an hour we’re going to be invaded by IA and I get the distinct impression it isn’t going to be fun.”

Lucifer listened quietly as Chloe explained the implications of what that meant. IA would be looking into every case the department had handled since Pierce had taken over. If regular paperwork seemed mountainous, this would be Everest itself. All the files, all the court documents, thousands of computer records; they would even be combing the evidence lockers, looking at office associations, after-work activities, connections to criminals.

“Sounds a lot like Hell,” he observed and was pleased when Chloe actually twitched a smile.

She _did_ look haggard, he thought. A full 24 hours of solid sleep would be the best thing for her, but he knew she'd scoff at the idea.

“My lawyer friend wants to meet with Penelope. I told him her situation and he’ll go out to the beach house if she isn’t feeling up to meeting at his office. He may have already spoken to her. I thought you might want to be there?”

“Of course I do!” She took a sip of the cold latte. _Delicious!_ She didn’t even notice the foamy mustache; the drink was sweet and good, with just a hint of cinnamon.

She looked up at him. “You’re being particularly thoughtful today; what gives?”

“I’ve decided that you need my help at the moment, and, as you’ve told _me_ on more than one occasion, I’m here for you. Whatever I can do to make things easier. At your service.”

He actually bowed.

She studied his face but there was no teasing undertone. _H_ _e really can be sweet at times..._

The thought felt reasonable... _even if he is really the Devil_

“Is that a deal then?” He wiggled an eyebrow at her. “Come on, you have to _say_ it.”

“Fine!” She was laughing, “It’s a deal.”

“Righto,” he smacked his hands together and grinned at her. “We’ll give the two of them time to get acquainted and meet them afterwards, if that’s suits everyone. Did the lovely Penelope enjoy our impromptu breakfast?”

“Yes, actually. She told me DEA searched the beach house after we left and didn’t come up with anything.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It seems Mom has a stash they didn’t find. I haven’t had the chance to do much research on her condition, what with...” she waved an arm one-eighty.

The detective flung her hands in the air. “Okay, _I_ need a vacation! I mean I _really_ need a vacation – somewhere tropical, white sandy beaches, swaying palm trees. Drinks with those little umbrellas in them. And _no phones!_ ”

She smiled up at him. “Seems there’s no rest for the wicked,” and managed to give him a wink as she said it, then added very quietly. “We are going to have to have that talk, aren’t we.”

It was not a question.

“Of course, Det... Chloe. It must have been quite a shock for you.”

“The sight of you? Well, _yeah!_ But finding out that you really _are_...” (she looked around) “’him’ – that part actually made a strange kind of sense. You’ve always said it right from the beginning. And I’ve seen you do things – I just kind of assumed you’d studied some sort of martial arts or something, you know what I mean. But the truth has been staring at me since I met you. Maybe I should have believed you a long time ago.

“In a way, I’m relieved.”

That was the last thing Lucifer expected her to say. “ _Excuse_ me? _'Relieved’_?”

Chloe locked eyes with her partner. “Do you remember when you were in the mental hospital? I actually thought you really _were_ having some kind of a breakdown! And can you blame me? You were acting like a crazy person… well, more than usual crazy for you. And you do drugs and drink alcohol like water; I thought you were going through some sort of mental meltdown.

“So yeah, finding out you’re the Lord of the Underworld actually is a relief, because at least you aren’t crazy.”

And the total absurdity of what she had just said made her burst out laughing, Lucifer chuckling with her.

She stood up and took a step toward him. “It’s all right, you know. You’re still _Lucifer_ , my partner.”

When she hugged him, he simply returned the embrace, neither of them aware of their fellow officers turning to look at them, some with knowing smiles, others just shaking their heads, one or two of the women sighing in resignation.

But one person bristled in anger, still smouldering over the fact that Lucifer had known all along Pierce was dangerous and hadn’t said a goddamned word. That dirtbag was even going to let Chloe _marry_ the guy! What the fuck kind of sicko was he?

Dan was angry. He knew part of it was raw grief over Charlotte, but it was what Lucifer had said that bothered him: “Oh, he told me he was the Sinnerman, months ago,” in that flippant and dismissive way of his that sometimes drove Dan nuts.

Seeing him holding Chloe – no, _returning_ her hug – made Dan furious. The guy had no sense of how to treat people, didn’t give a damn what others felt. If he knew what Pierce was, how could he stomach Chloe becoming involved with the bastard?

Dan admitted Lucifer cared for his ex-wife; a blind man could see it in the way he looked at her. And he had become far weirder than usual in the weeks that Pierce had pursued Chloe, so it had obviously bothered him. Dan could relate and had almost found a level of empathy for the club owner.

But now, the thought of what Lucifer knew and when he knew it simply would not leave his mind.

The arrival of Olivia Monroe and the IA goons brought everyone up short. They came together from desk and office as their former leader stood in the middle of the common area and scowled. Her face was stern and her voice loud.

“Listen up, everyone.” It was clear she was going to jump right in.

“Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you, and I’ll try to keep it short and sweet. When I left this precinct last year, it was a house that was in order. I was very proud of all of you, of the work we did together.

“And look at what has happened in such a short time! There’s no reason to mince words: Marcus Pierce was a fucking scumbag, running a criminal enterprise that stretched back to his time in Chicago and god-only-knows where else. Charlotte Richards was investigating his ties to a lot of shit, and it got her killed. And it nearly got Detective Decker and our civilian consultant killed as well.

“So here’s what we’re going to do: Every case that bastard had his hand in is going to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb.

“And,” she indicated the half dozen plain clothes that had come with her, “all of you are damn well going to cooperate with my team. You _will_ answer all their questions and do whatever they ask you to do. Make no mistake about that.

“Some of you will no doubt want your union rep around, so which poor schmuck has that job now?”

Dan’s heart sank as his hand went up. Olivia stared at him. “Espinoza, I almost feel sorry for you; you’re going to regret taking on that job.

“I’ve got some more news for all of you: In two weeks I’ll be coming back as your Lieutenant – temporarily, I might add, until this house is put back in order. Meanwhile, you need an interim commander, so I’m appointing Decker as Acting Lieutenant until I walk back through those doors.

“She answers to me and my office only. And you answer to her. _All_ of you,” she said with emphasis, looking around at the shocked faces in the squad room.

“Most of you, I know, are good people. But there’s some in this department that had to have been helping Pierce in whatever crap he was up to. If any of you would like to make my job easier and volunteer what you know, well, that will stand in your good stead. But we are going to root out the corruption in this precinct; be assured of that. Just know that those of you who helped Pierce in his little side businesses won’t be able to hide for long. I _will_ find you and I _will_ nail your hides to this _goddamned wall!_

“That’s all for now, folks, so get back to work, and while you’re doing that, you all better be thinking of coming down on the right side of this fucking mess, or I will make sure that you regret it.”

She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, motioning Chloe over. Lucifer was right behind her.

“Take over Pierce’s office for the time being; no one touches anything in there but you.”

Then turning to Lucifer with a genuine smile, “I want to thank you for saving my best detective’s life, Mr. Morningstar. I hear you’ve become a bit more professional during the past year. I’m still not clear on how you two got away from Pierce and his people, but I’m glad that both of you made it.”

“But, Olivia, why me?” Chloe had questions for her former boss. “It’s not like you can’t just drop someone in from IA to run the squad, or even someone from another precinct.”

“You know everyone, Chloe. And I want the squad to know the department stands behind you. I trust you. I want them to _know_ I trust you. I’ve read through Ms. Richards’ files on Pierce, and I want you to go through Pierce’s paperwork, whatever is here and at his place – places, rather -- of residence. You have more reason than anyone to do a bang-up job with this.

“Look, I know it’s asking a lot, what with your mom and all that, but you do well under pressure, and I need you to do this for me. Now, here’s what I want…”

 

      

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 4 and 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it shows as Chapter 2, but it really is Chapter 4 and 5!!!

**Chapter 4**

 

 

Thursday morning came far too quickly. It was a rare cloudy day in usually sunny Los Angeles, but to Chloe it seemed fitting.

 

Today was Charlotte Richards’ funeral.

 

As she pulled into the precinct’s staff parking lot, she saw Lucifer’s Corvette already parked in the spot next to her reserved space and felt strangely glad that he had arrived before she did. _He really has been good to me this week._ He had been since the night that they had found Charlotte’s lifeless body. And had been even more solicitous since she had seen his ‘real’ face (though she knew that ‘real’ was far more fluid a concept than she had ever imagined).

 

 _He’s even been nicer than usual to Dan._ And she knew how hard that must have been for him. Lucifer took a perverse delight in teasing Dan unmercifully, had done so since Day 1, but she was very glad he’d decided to be kind to her ex. She knew Dan was hanging on by his fingernails and wished she could think of some way to comfort him.

 

But you can’t wish Death away, as Chloe knew only too well, thinking back on how hard she had tried to do just that when her dad had been killed……….

 

She felt a happy flutter in her chest as she spotted Lucifer sitting at her desk. Was he actually looking at a police file? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, he looked up and grinned at her.

 

“Just thought I’d get an early start, _partner,._ ” He beamed at her, “Or should I say ‘Acting Lieutenant’?”

 

She giggled, she just couldn’t help it. “Partner will do nicely….looks like you’ve been here a while.”

 

“I woke up early, got bored sitting around the penthouse. And, well, the day isn’t going to be quite normal…..” She knew he was referring to the funeral.

 

“Have you seen Dan this morning?”

 

“No one has, but he did call. Said he’d meet us at the church. Speaking of which,” he motioned to the huge wall clock in the bullpen, “we probably should get going – shall I drive?”

 

Chloe nodded, much to Lucifer’s surprise. _Another slight shift in whatever was between them._

*******************

 

 

 

The funeral was, as expected, difficult. Difficult for all of them, Lucifer realized as he and Chloe found Dan and took their places beside him, Chloe in the middle.

 

Many people spoke, even the police Commissioner himself. The minister’s eulogy had been brief but complimentary. It was all a bit of an oddity to Lucifer, who had always thought of human funerals as just another dog-and-pony show. He spent much of it scanning the crowd, noting how many had shown up for Charlotte’s service, wondering how many truly cared and how many were just there because it was expected of them.

 

He had taken Chloe’s hand at the beginning of the service, and noted the extra little squeeze she gave his. She had not pulled away, but locked her fingers through his……..

 

He listened quietly as the service went on, watching those in attendance in true curiosity.

 

His reverie was interrupted only when Chloe dropped his hand and threw her arms around Dan, whose shoulders were shaking. Chloe held him for a moment and whispered something to her grieving ex. Lucifer saw Dan nod in agreement, before Chloe released her hug and turned to look at him, her eyes filled with tears of sympathy for the man she had once shared a life with, the father of her child. Her colleague. Her friend……

 

*****************

 

 

On the drive back to the precinct, Lucifer asked her “What did you tell Daniel?”

 

She was silent for a moment, then said “I gave my first order as Acting Lieutenant. I told him to take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. Do what he needs to do. Get drunk. Sleep for 18 hours. Whatever he needs.”

 

The Devil nodded, before she added, “I almost forgot, it’s Trixie’s last day at school tomorrow and Dan has her for the weekend……..

 

“Oh, Lucifer, what are we going to do? It’s all such a horrible mess……..”

 

He couldn’t disagree with her on that score.

 

“I want to check in on my mom too, but I’ve got to get back to the precinct. We’re literally down two detectives today, so of course we’ll probably need a dozen. Word must’ve spread through Pierce’s network by now, so there’s probably some extra crap going on, knowing the police are in disarray……”

 

Lucifer grinned at her. “I can think of one way we can find out a bit more about The Network,” he was wiggling an eyebrow at her. “My former house _guest_ who sent us into Pierce’s trap, he’s still in custody no?”

 

“Yeah, they sent him to the county lock-up waiting for his hearing. He’s lawyered up, of course--”

 

“Oh, he’ll talk for _me_ ,” Lucifer said, an oily undertone to the words. Chloe grinned at him.

 

*********************

 

 

Paperwork reigned supreme for the rest of that day. With Dan off and she herself riding a desk for the next couple of weeks, the detective unit was very short-staffed. The presence of the IA investigators slowed things down even more, as well as making everyone edgy.

 

She sat at her own desk, rather than Marcus’ office, reviewing the day’s case files and wondering how they would make up the personnel slack. It was the day shift, of course, that was being stretched the most. A sudden thought made her smile and she almost kicked herself. _I’m in charge for the next two weeks. Right!_

 

Time for a some uniforms to get the chance at moving up to plainclothes…. A couple of candidates came immediately to mind, both of them with a few years experience in the squad, both young and eager, and her gut told her that they were both clean.

 

She remembered how excited she had been when she had finally got the chance to shed her blues and become a real detective……

 

 

******************

 

 

Much to Chloe’s surprise, the rest of the day had gone far smoother than expected. She had given out assignments, poured over paperwork, met with Ella and the forensic team, who had helped comb Pierce’s office for every scrap they could find.

 

Lucifer had actually been very helpful, and serious about it, to her astonishment. He still made jokes and had her giggling more than once, but there was a difference to his light-hearted banter. He wasn’t teasing her or dropping what she’d recently come to think of as ‘snide Devil remarks’. In fact, he seemed completely _human_ today, solicitous and obliging.

 

He had left for a time to grab them something to eat, and Chloe’s mind drifted to Marcus Pierce, his corpse still resting on a slab in the morgue. They had looked for next of kin, friends, former colleagues from Chicago, but Ella had been unable to find a single soul that cared to claim the body. The coroner and Ella had all the information legally that his body could provide…….and the question remained of what to do with the remains now that he was no longer any use to anyone for any reason.

 

Chloe wondered how she could have been so stupid to have swallowed his monumental lies. Part of it had been purely physical. Pierce had been attractive and Chloe had had to bury her physical attraction for Lucifer. That certainly hadn’t been easy.

 

She had tried to stop thinking about sex completely, but she was only human, and it had been a long time since she had been with someone in that way. _She_ was the one that had to put feelings with it, but now she realized a large part of her had simply needed to get laid.

 

Had Marcus ever loved her? She had believed it when he told her so. In fact, she had believed everything he told her.

 

_And all of it had been lies._

 

Yet Lucifer had told her nothing but the truth for over two years, and she had only ever believed him when her own eyes and ears agreed. She had ignored what was right in front of her, and paid attention to something she assumed was there, something that turned out not to be real.

 

It made her question her own instincts, and she didn’t like the uncomfortable self-doubt that generated. She had been blind to both men about their motives that in retrospect seemed obvious now. She had believed what she wanted to believe, and not what actually was, and she made an internal vow that she would never make that mistake in judgment again. Ever.

 

Lucifer was back in half an hour and plopped a take-out bag on the desk in front of her. “Not sure what would tempt you, so I just grabbed some sandwiches from the deli, a couple of Rueben’s and some coleslaw, hope that suits….”

 

Chloe realized how hungry she was and literally dove into the bag. “Oh, this is perfect,” she mumbled through a huge bite of the still-hot Rueben, noting how her partner had puffed up, just a little, at her compliment. There was a lot they still had to talk about, but she was beginning to understand just how strong Lucifer’s feelings for her were.

 

They lunched in companionable silence before Lucifer asked her how her mother was doing and Chloe realized she had nearly forgotten Penny. She reached for her phone.

 

As it turned out, her mother was having a not-so-good day. Her voice sounded far away, strained and tired. But she assured Chloe that it was nothing she couldn’t handle and told her, in a somewhat more animated voice, that she had been contacted by the lawyer’s office and had scheduled a meeting at the beach house for Saturday morning.

 

“I’d like you and Lucifer to be there, honey, you might as well all hear it at the same time…..I’m going to take another painkiller and try to get some sleep today. I don’t want you to worry about me, as long as I have my ‘happy pills’ I can get by just fine. I promise……..”

 

*************************

 

 

“I have to pick Trixie up from school,” Chloe told Lucifer as they made their way to the parking lot a half-hour earlier than shift change. “Her last day at school is tomorrow and if Dan’s up for it, he’ll have her for the weekend--”

 

A voice behind them made both of them whip around, to see Maze standing there, looking surprisingly contrite instead of her usual cocky self.

 

“I’d like to pick Trixie up,” she said quietly. “I think it’s time she and I make up with each other – no, I mean, it’s time for _me_ to make up with her.”

 

Chloe looked at her roommate ( _wait, no, that would be demon_ ) before nodding her assent.

 

Maze gave her a rueful smile, “Thanks, Decker. I’ve been wondering how to do it and I can’t really figure that out, so I thought I’d just play it by ear and see how it goes…..besides, I’m guessing you two could use some time to, uh, _discuss_ things…..I mean, now that you _know_ and all………”

 

Lucifer looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Penthouse?”

 

The detective nodded, only a fleeting moment of doubt crossing her mind, mostly for her daughter’s emotional state. But she knew Beatrice really loved Maze, whatever had been said, and it did seem like the right time for them to patch things up.

 

“Ok, Maze, and thanks. If it goes sideways, just call me……..” The partners watched as Maze walked back to her car, then continued to their own vehicles.

 

“I’ll meet you at the apartment……it’ll probably take you twice as long to get there,” he said teasingly, but silenced her protests with a hasty warm kiss, and noted with satisfaction that it left her almost breathless.

***********************

 

 

Dan had taken his ex-wife at her word as his new, albeit temporary boss. He hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time since they had found Charlotte, and that was eight days ago. He _wanted_ to be at the station. He _wanted_ to work, to drown himself in detail, to do anything to keep his mind from his grief.

 

But he knew Chloe was right. He couldn’t go on this way, not without losing his sanity. _Or what little of it he had left._

 

And like many people hit with a sudden tilt, a disruption, an earthquake in their lives, he had only one surefire cure for the rabid thoughts that would not shut up. Dan Espinoza was going to get truly, royally, and _stupefyingly_ drunk!

 

****************

 

Dan never actually made it to bed; instead, passing out on the couch. The bottle of vodka (Charlotte’s favorite) sat empty on the coffee table. It had been two-thirds full when he got home and poured himself the first of many, many shots.

 

Now, in the middle of the night, he had been passed out for a good six hours, deep into the healing REM sleep he had not experienced for far longer than any human should be without…

 

She appeared right in front of him. _Alive!_ Lovely. Her face... _oh, her beautiful face!_ right above his.

 

“Charlotte?” Dan could only whisper.

 

“Yes, Dan, it’s me. It’s all right, you know. _Please know_ ,” the voice said, her eyes pleading. “I’m still around, we’ll see each other again one day, I promise! Please, don’t be angry, it’s all going to be okay.” And those eyes, _her_ gorgeous eyes, had been filled with such sorrow and such love that he thought his heart would burst. ”Talk to Lucifer’s brother, my love. Talk to Amenadiel. And, don’t blame Lucifer. I was trying to help.”

 

“Trying to _help?_ ” he cried out in the dream, arms stretched out to grasp her.

 

But she was gone.

 

Dan sat up, suddenly wide awake, the _scent_ of Charlotte still there in the room, his head pounding from the vodka he had consumed. He told himself that it was only a dream, but something inside him insisted it was really Charlotte he had just spoken to.

 

In a few hours he would have to pick Trixie up from her last day at school and do his duty as a father. He looked around at the devastation in his living room, and shed the clothes he was still wearing, as he made his way naked into the bedroom and crawled into the still unmade bed.

 

 

*****************

 

“Were you _really_ going to just stand by and let me marry that jerk?” Chloe was staring at Lucifer over the top of her wine glass as they sat out on the terrace of his penthouse.

 

 _She’s not going to let me off the hook this time._ Lucifer hated talking about his feelings, but there really was no getting around the conversation they’d been putting off all week.

 

“I would have done something.”

 

“Oh, _really?_ What would that be?”

 

“I _did_ try to tell you about him; you can’t deny that.” Lucifer hung his head.

 

“By telling me he was the biblical _Cain_ and had lived for thousands of years and was some kind of immortal criminal mastermind. Oh, yeah, good one, Lucifer.”

 

“But it was the truth!”

 

“And you **_knew_** I wouldn’t believe you!! Dammit, you could have just told me _why_ you didn’t want me to marry him. That _YOU_ cared about me, but I suppose that was too goddamned hard for you!” She was surprised at the sharpness in her own voice. She hadn’t intended that.

 

“You’re right,” he told her quietly. “It’s always been difficult for me to express feelings to anyone, really. It’s not something I’ve ever been comfortable with.

 

“In Hell, having feelings is a terrible weakness. I wouldn’t be much of a Ruler of the Underworld running around bloody _feeling things_ , now would I?” His own voice had risen a little.

 

Chloe did not want to argue with him, but there were things she wanted to say, had needed to say for days. Now seemed as good a time as any. It was the first time they’d had a couple of hours alone together, away from prying eyes and pressing duties... the first time since seeing the face he wore 'down below.'

 

He wasn’t looking at her but gazing out at the view as he lit a black Sobranie and pulled in a long drag of smoke.

 

“I know you wanted to tell me,” she said softly, walking over to join him at the railing and putting a hand on the arm he leaned on. “What made you so sure I'd run away? That’s what you told me, that you thought I'd run away, that I'd see you as a monster.

 

“Lucifer, look at me please; would you?”

 

He did as she asked and saw only gentleness in her eyes. “I guess it’s because I thought of myself as a monster. And, well, most humans who see that side of me are terrified. Jimmy Barnes went insane; you remember him?”

 

Chloe nodded and shuddered. Oh, yeah, did she remember _Jimmy Barnes._

 

“Even Linda, and she knew me as well as any human has – she was so frightened when I showed her. I thought she’d never want to be around me again. Chloe, I didn’t want to see that look on _your_ face.”

 

He went back to staring off into the distance and smoking.

 

“Well, I know now and I’m not running. I don’t want to run away from you, Lucifer. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

 

He turned to look at her and she gave him a soft smile. “Just, please, no more hiding, okay? Is it a deal?”

 

He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s a deal, my dear detective.” It felt good to hold her; he realized how often he had done so in the last few days and smiled at the pleasure it gave him.

 

They talked for what seemed like only a half hour, but it was well into twilight and had to be close to 9 pm. She had peppered him with questions and he answered as best he could.

 

Lucifer told her why he'd left Hell, how he'd tricked Amenadiel, how he’d brought Maze along.

 

“That was the day I watched you in Hot Tub High School, come to think of it,” he told her, his eyes twinkling. The detective's civilian consultant wisely decided not to share the other activity he was engaged in while watching her frolic semi-nude in her first (and only) film.

 

She had a million more questions, but the vibration from her pocket interrupted her.

 

“Yes, Maze? How's it going with Trixie?” She knew her daughter could be stubborn, and laughed at Maze’s answer. “No World War III, that’s a very good sign!” She nodded at the reply. “Okay, great, I guess I’ll head out soon. Tell the spawn I’ll be home in a half hour. And don’t let her trick you into any more ice cream!”

 

She gave Lucifer a ‘what can I do’ look. “I guess it’s time I took off.” But at his look of disappointment, Chloe added “It’s part of being a parent, and I want to make sure things are good between Maze and Trixie.

 

“And I want to check in with my mom on the way in tomorrow, just to see how she’s doing.” Then she had a sudden thought.

 

“Do you think you could pick me up in the morning? Maybe around 7:30? We could do a quick run out to the beach house before work and then drive in together, if that’s ok with you.”

 

********************

 

 

Lucifer was as good as his word, arriving just a few minutes early to find Chloe, Maze and Beatrice sitting at the kitchen counter.

 

Maze was taking Trixie to school ,and Chloe explained to her daughter, “I want to go see your grandma this morning, Monkey, just to make sure she’s doing okay. You enjoy your last day, and be good for Maze.” She was pleased to see the child and demon exchange a conspiratorial smirk. Things seemed back to normal with those two.

 

_..._ _Right, normal. My daughter and my demon roommate..._

 

But she knew the affection was real and she couldn't argue with that. Whatever Maze was ( _does it really matter?_ ), she would protect Trixie against a Mongol horde if she had to, of that Chloe had no doubt whatsoever.

 

Lucifer had come equipped with breakfast to take to Penny’s. Nothing elaborate: English muffins and his favorite strawberry jam (“from England” he informed her), with a large container of blueberry and pomegranate juice (“organic, loaded with antioxidants and vitamins”), and two strong coffees for them.

 

She accepted the one he handed her with gratitude. It was an African/Sumatran blend; powerful but not bitter, with just a hint of chocolate that remained on the tongue.

 

They got to the beach house just before 8. Penny greeted them with a subdued smile, dressed casually in track pants and a tank top.

 

“Getting a bit of a slow start this morning,” she told them with a smile. “Yesterday was a rough one, but the meds really helped.

 

“Thank you again, Lucifer,” she told him, with a little squeeze of his arm. “You really did save my life this week.”

 

“I’ve been so worried about you, Mom,” Chloe began, taking her mother’s hand. “I wish you’d told me about your illness. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have...”

 

“Done what, honey?” Penny shook her head and smiled. “I’m your mother; my job is taking care of _you_. Even when that just means not dumping my problems on you.” She slipped into an exaggerated Jewish-mother accent: “Vat? Enough you don’t have to vorry about?

 

“My doctor put me on Percocet for the pain, but I didn’t like the floaty feeling so she switched me to methadone. It didn’t help my walking but it sure helped my attitude! Must admit, Lucifer's 'survival kit' really saved me these last few days. Maybe it's the OxyCodone, because the Paracetamol does diddly as far as I can tell.

 

“As I told you both, back when the ME first hit it felt like my feet were being crushed in a vice, and they burned _all the time_. It started as an annoyance, then it was irritating, then it was waking me up at night and made it difficult to even walk to the bathroom! I was stumbling and falling every damn day; now add pain into that mix and I found myself thinking ‘if only I could die’.”

 

Chloe grabbed her mother and hugged her close. “I still wish you had told me instead of going through it all by yourself.”

 

“You had enough on your plate then, honey. You and Dan were splitting up, you were trying to look after Trixie, you were having problems at work… and I could cope. It didn’t seem fair to add my problems to what you were already dealing with. It’s my body, I had to cope with it somehow.

 

“And I have.”

 

“By becoming a drug smuggler, mom? How is that coping?”

 

“Don’t be a cop all the time, Chloe.” Lucifer clucked as he poured Penny a glass of juice. Handing it to her, he said “As I recall, that is around the time when the laws were changing.”

 

“Yes. The _laws_.” Penny looked up at them both as she took a sip of the delicious elixir. “There really are no 'laws' restricting our pain meds, just the CDC's 'recommendations'. But doctors are treating them like they're part of the 10 Commandments! Suddenly, it got a lot harder to get an opiate prescription filled at a pharmacy. Practices were warning their doctors to cut back on opioid prescribing. It was like the authorities believed that legal pain relief was suddenly ‘supporting drug addiction’.”

 

Penny had found her fellow sufferers by sheer accident. One of her manager’s relatives was dealing with bone cancer and had formed a small society of mutual support with other pain patients. “There were eight of us in the core group. We held each other’s hands, shared info about various pain treatment options, which physicians were sympathetic, which were less so, what pharmacies were quickest to fill prescriptions, which ones ‘lost’ opiates…

 

“It did get easier knowing other people were going through the same. Or worse. What’s that old saying about ‘a burden shared’?

 

“We have a sub-culture no one in good health knows anything about... or wants to,” she told them. “We’re not only coping with our failing bodies, we’re fighting the people determined to take our opiates away.”

 

“They can’t _do_ that!” Chloe broke in. “If your doctor says you need help with your pain nobody can argue.”

 

Penelope gave her a twisted smile. “For a law enforcement officer, sweetheart, you are woefully naïve. The doctors want to help, but they _can’t_ ; their hands are tied now. Hell, some of those who defy the 'recommendations' are getting treated as if they’re pushers!

 

She grabbed a sip of her daughter's coffee. “Why was I arrested trying to get back into the US with a shopping bag full of drugs if I had all I needed? If all that’s required for a doctor to write that prescription is documented pain, why are people who’ve never taken an illegal drug suddenly overdosing and dying on heroin and fentanyl? _They’re_ not addicts. And why is there an increase in suicides by people who’ve lived with chronic pain for decades?”

 

Penny's eyes filled and overflowed. “It’s because we can’t get opiates any longer, and for many of us it takes opiates to live anything like a normal life.

 

“You’re homicide, Chloe; you only see the results of drug gangs shooting it out on the streets. When you get back to the office, talk to someone you know in narcotics about what’s happened to pain patients in the last couple of years.”

 

Penny shook her head. “Those pills were the last hope for a couple of us. People in pain rarely become drug _addicted_ ; they’re drug _dependent_. Just like diabetics, they depend on a drug to keep them alive.”

 

Now, Chloe Decker was on solid ground. “Without insulin, a diabetic will _die_ , Mom. People in pain aren’t going to die without opiates.”

 

Lucifer frowned. “Detective, most healthy people believe that. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever experienced?”

 

She had to think about it for a moment. Giving birth to Trixie had been no picnic, but the reward was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, even though her tiny bright red daughter was screaming and covered in unidentifiable substances that made Dan turn pale and look away for a second. Funny, but years later she could hardly remember… _did_ it hurt so terribly?

 

“Um… I fell out of a tree and broke my wrist when I was nine; I guess that would count.”

 

“Right!” Penelope interjected. “Your dad was sleeping on the couch and your screaming woke him up faster than any alarm clock.”

 

Lucifer winced at the thought of his nine-year-old detective dropping to the ground like a failed skydiver. “Remember that pain. Remember how all your attention went to the broken bone; how you couldn’t think of anything else.”

 

Chloe nodded. His words brought back the shock of the fall and the overwhelming pain that made her throw up and even forget her name.

 

Her mother jumped in: “Now imagine that pain not going away. _Ever_. It eases up, then comes roaring back. Everything you do has to be fit in around how much it’s going to hurt. When you try to concentrate, the pain distracts you. It wakes you out of a sound sleep, interferes with getting dressed; you can’t make plans with friends and family because it may hurt too much for you to get out of bed or off the couch.

 

“You don’t do as much as you used to; forget hobbies, and you won’t be taking Trixie to the zoo. You can’t chase after criminals. Then they reassign you to a desk. After a while they tell you take a ‘leave of absence’ until your health ‘permits you to return’. People feel sorry for you, but they have their own lives and don’t want to cut back on what _they_ like doing just to be with you. You spend more and more of your time sitting at home by yourself.

 

“Conversations always seem to work around to how much suffering you’re going through; eventually, it’s too much effort to talk to people about anything else. So they stop coming around.”

 

Chloe nodded.

 

“Chronic pain brings on fatigue,” her mother continued. “We’re constantly tired, we don’t sleep much and that affects how well we think and reason.”

 

According to Penny, those who can get relief find the person they used to be is still in there, but that means always having opioids at hand. “The pain is waiting for you to lose that prescription, to ‘forget’ to take a pill. And _then_ your doctor is forced to take your opiates away – not because you did anything wrong, but to meet some government standard dose that’s supposed to end the opioid epidemic we hear so much about.

 

“That’s when the pain gets a taste for you, and you know what’s coming. That’s what makes people choose to die.”

 

 

 

**Chapter 5**

 

Who the fuck drew _that_? The graffiti in this place stunk. He'd done better himself, and he was no artist. He thought about giving it a shot, and wished he'd thought to swipe the booking officer's felt pen. He knew a great old standard, called 'from this angle, she didn't look like no cop to me'. Always a favorite! And then there was 'guilty as fuck – now try to prove it, pig!'

 

Gawd, it was good to be home.

 

Not. It was _boring_. That was the worst part of lock-up – boredom.

 

John Barron sat morosely in his cell at County, his bail hearing set for Friday afternoon. Just a few more hours, then back on the street! He was going to call his favorite squeeze and have himself a raucous ol' night, aided by one or two rather excellent illicit substances.

 

He was a ruthless son of a bitch, but he did like a good time. He could be very charming if the mood fit and it advanced his plans, and had never had any problem attracting women.

 

And he had a very, _very_ good lawyer, recommended highly by the Boss Man himself and paid for by the proceeds of the Sinnerman’s network.

 

He knew that Marcus was dead. Even down in the cells you still got a trickle of conversation between officers and that gossip had been a river. The guy was an ass and nobody in his organization would miss him, but he'd paid well. Barron had liked the money, but he was the only person besides the late and unlamented Lt. Pierce who knew where the rest of the stash was kept and how to get his hands on it fast.

 

They’d lost a lot of men in the latest clusterfuck that he'd helped set up. Four at the loft, including a bent cop, and at least nine at Pierce’s new digs. Barron didn't have a clue what had gone down there. The dudes who had been left to guard one scrawny bitch were discovered in bloody heaps on the floor, looking like a tornado had blown through. Three more were in hospital in various stages of recovery, found barely alive and all with multiple broken bones. He'd learned there were police on hand at LA Memorial to make sure no one but their lawyers were allowed in.

 

Barron himself was facing paper on multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder (further charges pending, which made him grin) but his mouthpiece promised bail would not be a problem.

 

He didn’t like sitting on ice; it pissed him off. He wanted to get at that lovely pile of money and get the fuck out of Los Angeles. Maybe branch out on his own with what he’d learned by being the number two man in Pierce’s LA gang?

 

Busy with entrepreneurial schemes, Barron was unaware that one club owner knew the judge who would be presiding over his bail hearing. Knew her _very_ well.

 

And Judge Julia Sundquist felt a thrill of body memory go through her when she answered a call from that charming man, who informed her that he was finally calling in a little 'favor' he had done for her years ago. The payment was simple – a mere postponement of one hearing from today until Monday. No big deal, really, and she had been more than happy to accommodate his wishes. Oh, how she would like to ' _accommodate_ ' him...

 

Perhaps that was the reason behind the sly smile Judge Sundquist was wearing as she informed the clerk about the scheduling change.

 

After all, it was just a bail hearing and the SOB in question had nearly gotten the best lay she’d ever had killed, along with a very competent detective. No question that the loser was most likely a main player in the network of corruption that threatened to scandalize the largest department of the LAPD….

 

Barron lost his temper, _really_ lost it upon learning he'd be staring at the walls for another three days. The information was about as welcome as his aching hand after he punched a cement wall with a lot more force than the delay called for.

 

The smug look on the supervising cop’s face hadn’t helped. The prisoner's fury boiled to the surface as the guards escorted him to an interview room instead of back to his cell. He considered taking a well-deserved poke at whoever was closest, but the sight of their hands hovering over shock-sticks made him choke it back. _One day, screw, one day..._

 

“You have a visitor, you fucking scumbag,” the officer sneered while attaching Barron's handcuffs to the table. Listening closely, he could hear the asshole talking to someone in the corridor, followed by loud laughter as the door opened.

 

It slammed shut behind a tall figure who took a seat across the table, a twisted smile distorting his hawk-like features.

 

“I have a few questions for you, Mr. Barron...”

 

“I know my rights, _asshole_. I’m not saying a word without my lawyer. _Fuck you!_ ”

 

Lucifer’s smile got just a little bit wider, as he purred “If I didn’t know what an incredible dirtbag you are _and_ if I was in the mood for a bit of rough trade, I might just take you up on your sordidly fascinating offer. But I don’t have much time to waste today.”

 

The purr became a hiss. “And you _will_ answer my questions.”

 

The guard waiting patiently in the corridor grinned when he heard terrified screams emanating from behind the closed door of the interview room.

 

________

 

It seemed to Chloe like a good idea at the time. She wondered how many disasters could be explained with that simple sentence.

 

The Titanic? “Iceberg? _I_ don’t see no stinkin’ iceberg...” The Hindenburg? “Oh, the humanity!” Hitler’s invasion of Russia? Der Fuehrer meets General Winter, the unbeatable foe. Disco? No words suffice. Her assault on the department’s narcotics enforcement policies? Well...

 

Okay, perhaps that last one wasn’t as devastating in its consequences as the other examples, but she certainly was humiliated by her own ignorance. At least, she’d given her fellow officers a good laugh… until they’d learned what motivated her anger and accusations.

 

And Sean Praegar was a decent guy. She’d known him well enough to say “Hi!” when they encountered each other on the job, but probably wouldn’t have gone on the offensive with him if she hadn’t witnessed her mother’s pain and then heard Penelope's story of what her pain group was going through in their struggles to obtain enough opioids to make life worth living. Hell, a better word for it was “survivable”.

 

All their stories ended the same way: “My doctor had to cut me off.” And all the doctors’ reasons were also the same: Law enforcement was threatening their ability to practice medicine. Write pain med prescriptions and your practice and career were in danger, as was your freedom.

 

Nobody knew how many opioid prescriptions were _too_ many, and no one was willing to find out. Much simpler to stop prescribing them altogether and avoid the handcuffs of doom, right? According to Penelope’s fellow sufferers, doctors who stood up to the bullying risked not only a DEA visit but disapproval and censure by the state medical board, composed of (according to one physician) “tight-assed sons of bitches on power trips”. The detective had met her share of TASOBs in various professions, and thought she knew how to deal with them.

 

She was wrong.

 

At least, Lieutenant Praegar had the decency to listen to her diatribe after she stomped up to his desk. He didn’t say a word when she described Penelope’s diagnosis, ensuing pain and her desperate attempt to smuggle the needed medicine across the border, and even winced when Chloe told him about bailing her mother out of the Homeland Security facility. She didn’t realize she’d been crying until he handed her a Kleenex accompanied by a sympathetic pat on the hand.

 

When she finally ran out of steam, the narcotics investigator sat silently for a minute, then handed his homicide counterpart his driver’s license. “Decker, take a look at my address.”

 

She looked, and shot him a baffled glance.

 

“My wife, my kids and I _live_ in this town. My oldest daughter is expecting her first baby in a few months. She lives here, too.”

 

Chloe had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

 

“Do you think we could find a doctor willing to take us on as patients if I arrested anyone writing opiate prescriptions?”

 

Chloe hoped her mouth didn’t fall open. “Then… why can’t people in pain get the drugs they need? What’s stopping doctors from helping them?”

 

Praegar sighed. “It’s hard for people to believe this, but it ain’t us. We’re not very interested in busting low-level users. When we do, it’s because we think we can make a deal with them to give us their dealer’s name. Then we bust _that_ dealer, and get them to give us another name, and so on until we get to the supplier’s supplier, the ‘big time’, if you will.

 

“At the street level, most drug dealers are doing it just so they can afford the drugs they need to keep from going into withdrawal. There’s no glory in hassling those people. They’re not getting rich off anyone’s suffering; they just want to get high so _they_ don’t suffer. Some of those users have stories that’ll break your heart, Chloe. You’ve seen what we’ve seen.

 

“What I don’t understand is why _more_ people aren’t using drugs to escape pain. And I’m not talking about physical pain, necessarily, although there’s plenty of that to go around.”

 

Chloe thought of Reggie, a Vietnam vet her dad had regularly taken to lunch when he saw him on the street. According to John, Reggie had stepped on a landmine while on patrol somewhere near Cu Chi and was subsequently shipped home with fewer body parts than when he arrived. The fact that he was still alive baffled everyone who knew him; Reggie and his wheelchair were fixtures on the LA sidewalks and, occasionally, the streets. His favorite form of entertainment was grabbing the bumper of passing vehicles, which would then tow Reggie and his chair for a few blocks until he felt like letting go or hit an obstacle the chair couldn’t overcome.

 

The old soldier drank like a fish, used whatever narcotics he could find, and had somehow made a friend of John Decker. He outlived her father and his Veterans Administration doctors; the smart money was on Reggie being immortal until he was discovered dead from a drug overdose.

 

“If we busted people like that we’d be doing nothing else with our time,” Praegar explained. “At that level, we try to _help_ users. We try to get them off drugs, if we can, and warn them when a bad batch comes into town.

 

“We want the major players, the people bringing in dope by the ton. Personally, I’ve never arrested a doctor – there just aren’t any real pill mills in this area anymore.”

 

As the detective explained it, doctors who had been a little too free with their prescription pads saw the writing on the wall, read about large-scale arrests along the East Coast, and voluntarily shut off their faucets. Those who didn’t became targets for the DEA.

 

“You’ve heard of Dr. Forest Tennant, had an office in West Covina?” Praegar asked her. Chloe nodded. Tennant had specialized in treating chronic pain. His clinic drew in patients from around the country when their own doctors refused to write prescriptions to address their suffering or were arrested and sentenced for drug trafficking. Many of Tennant’s patients were older and had lived with broken bodies almost their entire lives.

 

But few if any “doctor shoppers” in search of opioids for pleasure made it past Tennant’s keen eye. He ran some of the area’s earliest methadone clinics created to help addicts, served as a drug adviser for the NFL, NASCAR and the LA Dodgers, and pushed through the state’s Patient Bill of Rights, including proof that opiates can be a safe and effective form of pain treatment.

 

“I know Forest, I’ve consulted with him on investigations, and I trust the man,” Praegar said. “He’ll tell you that, yes, opiates were over-prescribed in the past, but the pendulum has swung the other way and now they’re unavailable to people who desperately need them.

 

“You know what happens then.”

 

Chloe knew. “They turn to illegal drugs, to pushers.”

 

The narcotics detective nodded. “You don’t think it breaks our hearts to see old people, nicely dressed, trying to find someone to sell them pain medication?

 

“Hell, they’re begging for anything they can find. They’re asking pushers for prescription pills; _we_ haven’t seen the real thing in months, and if we haven’t seen them I guarantee you they’re not being sold on the street. People with _real_ drugs, the kind everyone’s blaming Big Pharma for, are holding onto them.”

 

Chloe didn’t want to ask the next question, but she had to know. “The drugs my mom bought in Mexico and got busted with. Do you think they were… real?”

 

Praegar shook his head. “Decker, the answer is ‘no’, of course not. If Penny was lucky, she got fakes made out of something like chalk and baking soda. If she wasn’t lucky she got ‘presses’, fentanyl mixed with god knows what and formed using a pill press into a shape resembling the real thing.

 

“And whoever took one of those would probably be dead by now.

 

“I’d say your mother is one lucky lady, but I’d imagine she’d rather be dead than living without opiates. That’s what most pain patients tell us, and I don’t doubt them.”

 

_That’s what her mother had said. That some chose to die……._

 

The conversation continued, but what Chloe Decker remembered most was “dead by now.” And that detectives like Praegar and his fellow officers were being blamed for the actions of federal agents, the “feddies” that most cops resented and avoided whenever possible.

 

Dr. Tennant, faced with a federal indictment for helping desperate, suffering patients, had been forced to retire. He joined many other doctors who chose quitting as opposed to neglecting the needs of the more than 100 million chronic pain patients in America, who were gradually being left to their own devices. And even though opiate prescriptions had decreased, overdose deaths were still climbing. Couldn’t lawmakers see what desperate people were being forced to do?

 

“Nobody asks us what _we_ think,” Praegar told her. “We’re down in the trenches with the addicts. You kinda feel like you’ve seen it all when _addicts_ are warning pain patients off, telling them not to start using fent, that it’ll kill them. And it _will_ , but these people can’t live with what their bodies are doing to them.

 

“I never thought I’d see a time when a junkie felt sorry for someone else. Does that tell you how bad it is?”

 

Bad enough, according to the detective, for one of his officers to stop a woman in an electric wheelchair who was attempting to score. “He started talking to her, trying to talk her out of using, and she told him to help her lean forward. The woman had _spinal bifida_ ; her spine was actually exposed – my guy could _see_ it! That lady was living in agony; had been like that all her life. She told my buddy to shoot her because she couldn’t live that way any longer.

 

“Her doctor had ‘fired’ her; wouldn’t write any more opiate scripts. She said if she couldn’t score she was going home and killing herself, and he believed her.

 

“Look, we hear that ‘I’m gonna kill myself’ shit all the time, but these people are _serious_. Know what I think?”

_You’re ready to retire_ , Chloe thought.

 

“I’m ready to retire. Because – and I tell you this on the lives of my men -- we’re going to start seeing a lot more ‘suicide by cop’ if these people don’t get some help. They _will_ find a way to end their pain.”

 

*************

 

 

 

Back at Pierce's desk, Detective Decker stared blindly out the window of their dead lieutenant’s office at a lovely view of the department parking lot. _Oh, mom. Is this your future? Is this what you worked so hard for, what you raised me for? To have your own government turn on you? What would Dad do in my place?_

 

If there was ever a time she needed John Decker’s advice, it was now.

 

His daughter had never prayed; the Deckers weren’t a church-going family. Chloe wasn’t a hardcore non-believer, but was happy to admit that since nobody knew what happened after death there was no reason to worry about something she had no control over and no discernible effect upon.

 

But, now, with Lucifer… what had he said about his Dad? _God... really?_ Did she need to be on her knees, hands folded, like in church? Would his father hear her? Should she talk to Ella, ask _her_ advice? She watched the news (sometimes). Some of those people had to have been praying and they still found themselves in situations bad enough to make it into homes all across America. ‘Breaking news out of...’ Blown away by explosions. Murdered in classrooms. Starved in Yemen. Death. Suffering. All those sad prayers; why would his father hear hers?

 

“Detective?”

 

“Huh? Oh, Lucifer. I have a question.”

 

Lucifer knew Chloe well enough to recognize when she was about to ask him something important. Did she want to have that “talk” right here? Not that it bothered him; he’d always been upfront and honest about who he was. But perhaps the detective would prefer more… privacy.

 

“Would you like to discuss the, ah... issue over drinks? I’m buying, and I’ll be pleased to share as much as I possibly can about whatever question is currently _mlphhh...!”_

 

Chloe had placed her hand firmly over Lucifer’s mouth. “Stop. Talking.

 

“When I say I have a question, you nod and wait for me to ask it.”

 

Lucifer nodded. Chloe removed her hand and gave him a frowning side-eye to make sure he remained quiet.

 

“Now. How do I get in touch with your father?”

 

“Excuse me? You’re asking _me_ that? The being who hasn’t spoken to me or answered me or even acknowledged that I still exist in countless millennia? I’m sorry, my dear detective… as far as I know, he never answers any of us, except a few of my siblings. Now why don’t you ask me something that I can answer?” He broke into an ear-splitting grin.

 

She suddenly remembered where he had been while she was talking to Praegar.

 

“Did you get names?” Detective Decker was unaware that she looked very much like a puppy about to be given a treat.

 

“What do you think?” Lucifer wiggled his eyebrows at her and pulled a chair around to the business side of the desk. “Benson, Walters, Chiu and a couple of others on the outskirts.”

 

Chloe keyed 'Benson' into the personnel search on the department’s internal database, and sat back. “This is _great_ , Lucifer! Olivia is going to love this! Did you have any trouble with Barron?”

 

“Not really,” he answered nonchalantly. “Put a bit of a scare into the bugger and, lo and behold, he suddenly became a very willing source of information. No big deal…..”

 

But Chloe knew that it was indeed a 'big deal'. Apart from Palmetto, she had never concerned herself with department politics, but she knew Liv would be very pleased with the information. And it certainly wouldn't hurt her future career to be one of the darlings of the Commissioner’s office.

 

Even if it probably wouldn't last.

 

One glance at her watch told her it was nearly 3:00 pm, almost the end of the shift, and – even better -- she had survived her first day 'in charge' of a homicide unit. She looked at her partner and smiled.

 

“All I have to do right now is juggle some assignments. Walters is on holiday,” she pointed to the computer screen. “Chiu finishes his shift at 4 and is off for the weekend, and Benson has the night shift on the front desk for the next couple of days…

 

“I’m going to give Liv a quick call, then we can get the hell out of here. We make a damned good team, don’t we, partner?”

 

Lucifer used similar facial muscles for the smile he'd given Barron and the one he now gave the detective. But even if the accused murderer could have stopped crying and trembling long enough to look, he would have refused to believe the man sitting across from the blond detective was the same being whose flaming red eyes promised damnation if the requested names were not provided.

 

What he saw in those eyes would haunt John Barron for the rest of his life.

**********

 

Friday had finally ended and Chloe was home at last. It was quiet as she opened the fridge, reached for the half bottle of Chardonnay in the door and poured herself a glass.

 

She had gone to pick up Trixie on her last day of school. It was Dan’s normal weekend with her and the girl was bubbling with excitement at being free for the summer. She could swear that her ex-husband’s mood had brightened by at least two shades as the little girl ran into his arms; she could literally see the tension in his body disappear as he hugged the child for just a little bit longer than necessary.

 

Dan and Chloe hadn’t talked about their connection to Pierce; the expressions indicated they were fully aware that work was going to be a horror show for the next few weeks and they were both going to be at the center of it.

 

Dan had obviously at least been able to sleep, though the slight tremor of his hands made Chloe suspect it had been alcohol-assisted. Still, he seemed calmer than he had the day before and truly looking forward to a weekend with his child.

 

As father and daughter left, Trixie was holding her dad’s hand and babbling about how happy she was to have the summer off and could they go to the zoo one more time and maybe up to Bear Lake and wouldn’t it be great to be at the beach...

 

Chloe slowly sipped her wine and tried to let the week from hell slide off her shoulders until she was startled by a soft knock at the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by, but found herself hoping it might be Lucifer…

 

Instead, she opened the door to Linda Martin’s bright smile.

 

“Lucifer called me earlier,” the doctor offered by way of explanation. “He thought you might want to talk now that you, um... are in the picture, so to speak.”

 

Of course he did. He'd told her that Linda and Charlotte knew the truth, and Chloe realized with a little flush of happiness that talking to Linda was probably exactly what she needed tonight.

 

“Well, come on in, Tribey; would you care for a glass of wine?”

 

“Can’t say no to that!” Linda was grinning at her. “I was going to call, then I thought, well, it’s Friday night, so I grabbed an Uber and decided to just drop in. Hope you don’t mind?”

 

“Of course not, Linda! Actually you’re probably the only person I know that I _can_ talk to about... this.” She handed the psychiatrist a glass overfilled with Chardonnay.

 

“The only person except Lucifer, of course.” Linda took a big swallow to keep it from spilling on the carpet. “I take it you and he have discussed everything?”

 

“Actually, no, we’ve just kind of skirted around it – there’s so much going on at the station.” The detective sketched their insane circumstances for the doctor. “We've only had one long conversation and we barely covered anything, seems like something or someone always interrupts.  We did get to some of it yesterday, but it only made me realize it was just the tip of the iceberg and, well -- this has been the craziest, most horrible week – everyone’s been going at full tilt since… since we found Charlotte…” Her voice trailed away as she thought of the year they had lived through during the past few days.

 

Linda looked at her, a sudden thought lighting up her face. “You know what you could use? I happen to know a place that’s having a theme night tonight: Classic Motown, you know, from Detroit days. Might be a nice distraction and a chance to blow off a little steam.”

 

“That place wouldn’t happen to be owned by a certain devil, would it?”

 

Linda burst out laughing. “ _Bingo_ , girlfriend! Come on, I’ll call Uber.”

 

“Just let me run up and change; I feel like I’ve been in these same clothes for a week. Won’t be a minute.”

 

Linda smiled to herself. Chloe was indeed special. _S_ _he sure is handling this a lot better than I did. But then, I’m not in love with him..._

 

************

 

Chloe wondered what the Uber driver must’ve thought about the weird conversation his passengers were having, but she didn’t really care. Her spirits were buoyed by the cheery doctor. Linda just had a way about her today that lifted Chloe out of her dark cloud.

 

Two women out for a few drinks and maybe a dance or two, and who doesn’t love old Motown, anyway? It was indeed just ‘what the doctor ordered’.

 

The line-up at Lux was halfway around the block, but Linda and Chloe ignored the stares of those waiting as they went right to the front and were ushered in by the solicitous doorman. It does pay to know the owner of the hottest club in town!

 

As they made their way through the crowd, Chloe spotted Lucifer’s tall form and noted with pleasure that he’d seen her at almost the same instant, his handsome face breaking into a broad smile as he waved them over.

 

But it was the individual who sat perched on a stool opposite him that took Chloe completely by surprise. In a pretty but casual sun dress, her high heels dropped on the floor, sat Penelope Decker. Standing next to her was an older man with his back to them, wearing in a very expensive Italian suit by the look of it.

 

Lucifer said something and both turned around, Penny with a look of delight on seeing her daughter.

 

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you came tonight!” Penny was obviously having one of her good days. She seemed relaxed and physically comfortable and her smile was genuine.

 

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

 

Chloe actually thought she was going to fall over as her mother’s companion turned and held out a hand to shake hers.

 

“This is my daughter, Chloe Decker of the LAPD,” Penelope began, “and, Chloe, I’d like you to meet the wonderful lawyer that Lucifer found for me!”

 

“I know who you are,” the Detective managed to squeak as she took the attorney’s hand. His grip was warm and strong.

 

“Max Henderson,” he beamed at her, “delighted to meet you – even Lucifer’s description doesn’t do you justice.”

 

Chloe’s head was spinning. _Maxwell Henderson_ , attorney to the stars. _Hoh-lee shit!!_ A 15-minute consult with this man would probably cost six months of her salary. His clients were the Hollywood elite, his reputation nearly as famous as many of theirs. And he was rich beyond the dreams of Crassus.

 

“I thought you had retired...” she began, still awed at meeting the famed attorney.

 

She had read somewhere that his wife had died of cancer a couple of years ago and he had cut back drastically on his legal work to be with her during those last months. After her death, he only emerged for a case close to his heart or one that was particularly interesting to him personally.

 

“Semi-retired, actually,” he told her, “Lucifer told me about Penny’s predicament and I decided that this might be a time when I could do some actual good for all the right reasons. And trust me, in my line of work that opportunity doesn’t come up too often!”

 

His chuckle was contagious. Max was a _very_ charming man -- a few years younger and he might have rivaled Lucifer himself in that regard. The man sported a shock of thick white hair (Chloe remembered the last picture she had seen of him, when it had been black, shot with grey), and startling blue eyes under thick brows that were still mostly dark.

 

At one time, he had been very handsome, and still retained the natural charm he had been graced with. She estimated he was in his early seventies, a bit thicker in the waist than he'd been in his prime years, but still immensely attractive.

 

And it seemed that age had not diminished his vigor.

 

“I, uh, don’t know what to say, Mr. Henderson. I... well, I don’t think my whole family has enough money to afford you...”

 

The man laughed, Penny joining him. “Don’t worry about that, Ms. Decker. I decided to take this case _pro bono_ ; no fees at all.

 

“Once Penny told me what had happened, well, I couldn’t let the Queen of Sleazeball Sci-Fi be railroaded, now, could I? Besides,” his voice lowered, “I hate to admit this, and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I’ve always kind of had a ‘thing’ for this lovely woman – I’m a big fan of the campy golden oldies. It’s my pleasure to come to the rescue of the queen of the vampire vixens!”

 

That visual image, compared with a barefoot Penelope Decker in a flowered dress and holding a drink, got everyone laughing.

 

Penny was bubbling over. “It was his Lear jet that brought us back from National City!”

 

At Chloe’s raised eyebrow, the lawyer’s face became serious. “I owe your partner here a great deal, Ms. Decker. I hope that helping this lovely woman out of a despicable situation will square that debt.” Max looked at Lucifer, who bowed his head in a slight nod. “Besides, even if Lucifer hadn’t been involved in this, I might have just done it for free, anyway. I kind of like the idea of rescuing a damsel in distress!”

 

“I thought we were all supposed to meet for lunch tomorrow out at the beach house,” Chloe began.

 

“That was the plan,” the attorney told her, “but I wasn’t busy so I called Penny and we decided to meet today instead; we’ve actually spent the last few hours getting up to speed about everything. Lucifer called around dinner time to ask about tomorrow, and, well, here we are.”

 

He did it _again_ , Chloe thought to herself. Lucifer had done something wonderful. For _her_. Simply because he _could_. She wondered what favor the devil had done for the wealthy attorney that would warrant setting aside a fee that could have run well into six figures... It must’ve been something really important.

 

She could feel the inner tension evaporating and realized how worried she had been about what could happen to her mother. But... _Maxwell Henderson!_ In her wildest imagination she could not have wished for a better attorney. And _pro bono,_ too. It lifted a huge weight from her, it truly did.

 

She looked from Penny to the lawyer, then to a smiling Linda, and finally to Lucifer. He was watching her, his eyes guarded, expression unreadable, as she walked around the small stand-up bar and put her hand over his.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “My Lucifer,” this last said so quietly that only he had heard it.

 

It did something very pleasant to him, a warmth that hit the center of his chest. Even though she had used the possessive and even if he was the least possessive being on the planet. It made him feel... worthy.

 

Tonight looked like it might turn out to be a _lot_ of fun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We should have another chapter up by the end of the week, and it's a long one too!!!
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments you left, they are always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we have the next section and more to follow in a couple of days. Hope you all enjoy the read..

**Chapter 6**

 

Penny was surprised when she answered the door on Saturday morning. Lucifer had told her to expect a _“special delivery_ ” for her friends in the pain group. What she did _not_ expect to see was her new lawyer standing on the stoop, briefcase in one hand and flowers in the other.

 

_...how delightful!_

 

With a happy smile, she invited him in. Her day was getting better and better!

 

About damn time she had two pretty good ones in a row. And Friday had been the best day she’d had in a long time….

 

The few before that had been a bit of a setback, her joints and muscles so painful it had been hard to stand up without wanting to cry. Thanks to Lucifer, though, she had sufficient meds to see her through the worst of it and had even been able to sleep well. Pain was difficult enough to tolerate, but pain that interfered with deep, healing sleep made her suffering that much worse.

 

This morning had been a surprisingly good one. Instead of hitting eight out of ten on the pain scale (‘1’ being good and ‘10’ the equivalent of being set on fire), Penny measured the intensity at a rather comfortable five, which was as good as it seemed to get for her now. She couldn’t remember the last day she was completely pain free, not for a long time. But a ’5’, especially on waking up, meant that it was very likely to be a pleasant day. Her first hearing was coming up soon and she really did need to be alert (as John used to insist, the world needed more lerts).

 

Having Max Henderson step in been a godsend, if she’d really believed in God. Well, _at least_ a very welcome synchronicity! Her daughter knew Lucifer. Lucifer knew Henderson and apparently the latter owed the former for some kind of very important favor.

 

She wondered idly what that favor was as she offered her new attorney coffee. “I’ve had to nearly cut caffeine out entirely with this miserable disease,” she said brightly, “but I was just about to allow myself a rare cup – I think I miss coffee most of all, you know, silly as that sounds.

 

“On a bad day it makes the pain a lot worse, so I really didn’t have much choice about giving it up. Today, however, I was going to brew up a pot of Buffalo Soldier – an old favorite of mine. It’s Marley coffee, you know, _Brother Bob_? His kids started an organic coffee company after their dad died. I always loved reggae, so I tried all the blends……but Buffalo Soldier is my favorite.”

 

“And a damned good song too! I used to play the Wailers all the time back in the day - I’d love a cup,” Max beamed at her. “But these are for you; I hope you aren’t allergic,” as he handed her a bright bouquet surrounding two happy sunflowers.

 

Penny noted his broad smile and how much younger it made him look. And she remembered how handsome he’d been, back when his famous (and occasionally infamous) clients had gotten them profiled in the media. _...could have been an actor with those looks_.

 

“Oh, thank you so much! These will look beautiful in here. And, no, I’m not allergic to flowers, thankfully. I do love them – they always brighten up the place.”

 

She led him into the kitchen area and reached under the sink for a large vase, handing it to him. “Will you do the honors while I get the coffee going? I’ll have to grind some. So glad I found this bag, it’s got to be a year old at least; I haven’t even opened it.”

 

The two chatted idly while Penelope made the strong brew. When she turned around, Henderson had opened his briefcase on the counter and withdrawn a large rectangular package, perhaps two inches thick.

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, but... well, I agreed to act as Lucifer’s courier.” He nodded at the package. “This should be enough to last the members of your group for at least a couple of weeks.

 

“Lucifer thought, and rightly so, that anyone else dropping over would look suspicious, but I _am_ your attorney and I made quite a show of parking right out front. I have all kinds of very good reasons to come and see you that aren’t the least bit suspicious.

 

“Besides, it’s a good excuse to see you again. I had a lot of fun last night.” His eyes were twinkling.

 

_Oozing charm from every pore, as that old song goes..._

 

Penny laughed. “I’m surprised you agreed. It... well, it doesn’t sound like something an attorney should be doing for a client, especially one charged with drug smuggling.” She shuddered. “Aren’t you concerned you’ll get in trouble?”

 

He paused before answering her, and his face was serious.

 

“Actually,” he began, “there’s a time and place for strictly adhering to the law… and then there isn’t.”

 

Penny raised an eyebrow. “My late husband would be appalled if he knew what kind of trouble I was in. Then again, when he was alive getting pain medication wasn’t such a legal mess. Back then you could get pretty much anything you needed through a doctor, few questions asked.

 

“God, how I wish that was still true,” she added, somewhat wistfully.

 

“How long has it been since he died?” The attorney’s voice was soft.

 

Penny poured the coffee and passed him a cup.

 

“It’ll be 20 years in a couple of weeks,” she answered sadly, “I’m used to it now, but there are times when I still miss him. _A lot_. But we had 23 good years, which is more than many people have.

 

“It wasn’t enough, but the memories are good. John was what a police officer _should_ be: Kind, decent, a lovely man, honest. He was my rock.” She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the rare tart bite of it, and letting the attorney continue.

 

“I think the worst thing about losing the person you love more than yourself is that eventually you get used to them being gone. You don’t want your life to continue, but it does and you adapt.” He shook his head. “I suppose you heard that my wife died a couple of years back?”

 

Penny nodded for Max to continue. “She had breast cancer. First diagnosed when she was 55, and it looked like she’d beaten it. She had one mastectomy and quite a few rough rounds of chemo, but it came back five years later, so she had to go through it all again.

 

“We really did think the second time that she’d beaten it for good, but it had metastasized. When it came back again three years ago…” His voice cracked. “It was a death sentence.”

 

Penny stared into his wet eyes, two survivors sharing their time on the front lines of an unwinnable war. “ _Goddamn_ it! Were you married for very long?”

 

His smile quavered. “Forty years; I was 30, she was 25. We met at a party, actually – it was pretty much love at first sight for both of us. She was an architect, you know…

 

“Anyway, we got married just three months later. Our luck held. My career was going well and so was hers. We bought a piece of land up in the hills and she designed our ‘dream house’ – she was a great admirer of Frank Lloyd Wright’s work!”

 

“Oh, I am, too!” Penny interjected.

 

“Marian was a little softer on the design details, not so much angularity, but she loved the brightness and light… Anyway we built a house that won a few design awards; west-facing, on a hill overlooking the city. You could see the ocean on a clear day if you were willing to hang onto something and lean out over the cliff? He grinned at the memory of determined friends taking their lives in their hands for that all-important look at the Pacific.

 

“She created a huge balcony hanging over the hillside and a giant open great room, no windows, no doors, just a huge open space. There was a roll-down we could use when the weather got iffy, but it was set back to where the kitchen was – we almost never shut it. Something about living in the open air most of the time… It made us feel like kids in a tree house! We were happy there.” His voice trailed away as he sipped his coffee.

 

“I digress, though. I think you know well enough about the change in the laws for opioid prescriptions back in 2015…”

 

“Yeah,” Penny answered, “only too well, I’m afraid.”

 

“My wife was in a lot of pain.” His voice had become louder. “She was my best friend, my confidante. I loved her! And watching her be denied morphine when it was easily on hand… I couldn’t take it. Watching her suffer…

 

Penny was shocked. “The hospital wouldn’t give her pain medication? For _cancer?_ ”

 

“She wanted to die at _home_ , in the house she designed. We spent a lot of happy years in that house. We weren’t able to have children, so the place became our private little paradise. Gorgeous view. Quiet. Peaceful.

 

“We could have afforded the best hospice care, the best drugs, a private nurse 24-7, but when the doctors said there was nothing more they could do she told me she wanted to go out of this life in the place she’d been the happiest. And I wanted that for her, I tried everything I could think of, legally, to somehow get her what she needed, but oh, no.”

 

“She couldn’t have the powerful drugs she needed at home. Those could only be administered under a doctor’s direct supervision. Otherwise...” His voice slipped into a parody of the rule makers who would have forced his wife into a hospital: “‘She might become addicted’.

 

“My Mari was fucking **_dying_** ; what the _hell did it matter_ if she was ‘addicted’?”

 

Penny refilled their mugs, and briefly wondered what young people found to talk about. ‘War stories’ similar to those she and Max were sharing brought humans closer _faster_ than endless chatter about popular music groups, cars and clothes... subjects she once believed were fascinating topics.

 

“I, well, let’s just say I got nowhere. _Legally_. And leave it at that. It didn’t matter how much I was willing to pay. Mari either went into the hospital to get the IV fentanyl she needed or she stayed at home and screamed until she died. _That_ was the choice our laws gave me.

 

“A client of mine said he _'_ _knew a guy'_ who could get things done. He introduced me to Lucifer.”

 

Max shook his head and grinned. “Oh, that _name_. Can you think of a better handle for someone who owns the hottest bar in LA? _‘Lucifer Morningstar’,_ pure genius! I wonder what his real name is.

 

“Anyway, at first I thought he was an arrogant prick.”

 

Penny remembered Chloe’s tale of their original encounter and chuckled. “My daughter would agree with you! She was really annoyed with him when they first met.”

 

The attorney nodded. “I thought he did it intentionally, just to mess with people. But now that I know him better, I believe he genuinely isn’t aware of how he presents himself. He’s just being Lucifer -- no artifice, no bullshit, no false modesty. Hell, no modesty _at all!”_

 

Penny laughed so hard she choked on her coffee. “You should hear the stories Chloe tells about his ‘relaxed’ attitude toward taking his clothes off in public! I think she finally got him partially trained not to do that. Emphasis on ‘partially’.”

 

“’Uninhibited’ is the word I’d use,” Max chimed in. “He’s a born performer. I’ve never had to deal with a naked Lucifer, so I’ll count myself lucky. Although, from what I’ve seen of him, I can understand why women find him irresistible.”

 

Max studied his empty mug. “May I prevail upon you to brew up another pot, Penny? This coffee is great!”

 

Their conversation continued as the kitchen filled with the aroma of fresh caffeine, gifted by compassionate deities to mortals who could barely get themselves moving without it.

 

“I’ll admit to being surprised when he came through for me and got Mari the drugs she needed,” Max continued. “He even had someone come to the house and install a permanent port in her chest. Otherwise, I’d have caused my lady even more suffering by trying to find a vein that worked.”

 

Penny gave him a puzzled look.

 

“Did you know a side effect of chemo is that the veins become tough as leather? Neither did I, until I watched a nurse trying to get her line going. It was just one more thing the doctors never bothered mentioning to us.

 

“I never asked where Lucifer got those drugs, but they were pharmaceutical quality, and he sent enough of them so that I could keep Mari comfortable at home. Thanks to that port, I even learned how to give the injections myself so no one would know and think they had to interfere.”

 

The attorney and the actress shared a look.

 

“I would have done anything….and I mean _anything_ to fulfill her dying wish. Lucifer made it possible and I owe him more than I can say for helping me, for helping _us_. At that point, I really didn’t care _where_ he got the drugs. I still don’t.

 

“I was able to spend those last weeks with her and for that I shall always be grateful to the man. So, when he told me what had happened to you... well, it seemed the perfect way to really show him how much I appreciated what he did for me.”

 

As an actor, Penny had spent her career with attractive people whose public personalities reflected the roles they played. All too often, charming exteriors hid a greedy, selfish core that bitterly disappointed those who came in contact with them.

 

Lucifer seemed to be the reverse: An arrogant, spoiled _dilettante_ with the proverbial (and oh, so rare) heart of gold. It was entirely unexpected and, therefore, most appealing. Especially since he would have vehemently denied it under the guise of doing something for his own benefit……

 

Penny had listened quietly, sipping her coffee, then asked: “Do you still live in that lovely house?”

 

Henderson’s face darkened and he looked down at his hands.

 

“No. Sold it. Couldn’t bear to be there without her. She designed the place, she was in the walls, the shapes… everything…” his voice trailed away and Penny could feel the sadness rolling off him.

 

“So, Lucifer did me another favor: After Mari died he _bought_ the place! Paid a very fair price for it too. Told me if I ever changed my mind I could buy it back. That made me realize I’d misjudged the guy terribly. It was a kind gesture and at least with me he was a man of his word. He came through for me again when he certainly didn’t _have_ to. Tried to make light of it by saying he loved the view. You know how he is; refuses to take anything seriously. He may ‘love the view,’ but I don’t think he uses the place much...

 

“And now that I’ve bared my soul to you, tell me about John.”

 

Penny had been in deep shock when she asked the funeral director if the deceased’s next of kin had an easier time coping with their loss if the death had been expected as opposed to sudden, as John’s had been. The man appeared discombobulated by her question; perhaps it wasn’t... appropriate? None the less, she pushed for an answer and finally he admitted that “loved ones” (and, god, how she hated that simpering term!) seemed less bewildered when their loss occurred after a lengthy decline.

 

Max nodded.

 

Certainly, John had been his usual upbeat self when he headed for the division’s afternoon shift as part of his last day on Earth. They’d met for a late lunch, Penny being in the middle of shooting “an epic!”, according to her director, who had an undeservedly high opinion of his talents as a film _auteur_. The call came at around 10 pm, right in the middle of “Take 34!” How damn many ways are there to defy the Kragan, Lord of the Undead? Both Penelope Decker and her co-star who played the Kragan were at the end of their patience with the director’s _artiste_ attitude and close to rebellion if not outright revolt. Literally.

 

“We’d been in those costumes all day, it was hotter than hell on that soundstage, and we _were_ revolting!” she told Max. “Someone on the crew yelled that I had a call, and I thought it might be Chloe. She was 19 at the time, and 10 pm meant absolutely nothing to her.

 

“Of course, I took it, which mightily pissed off the director. When I didn’t come right back, they sent his assistant to find me.”

 

Penelope Decker was sitting on the catwalk stairs, slumped against the wall and staring at nothing. No one could get a word out of her that made sense, and one of the lighting crew suspected she’d sustained a stroke (his grandmother had a similar episode, so he was the on-site expert).

 

Eventually, someone thought to hit *69 on the phone Penny had dropped and got the police precinct operator, who knew what had happened and clued everyone in on what amounted to the end of Penelope Decker’s life as she’d known it.

 

“I know it’s a cliché, but I don’t remember the call or anything about the next day. Not a damn thing,” she added. Max took her hand and held it to his cheek. They exchanged a silent glance, two people who had suffered the second worst loss any human can sustain and survive. The worst, of course, is always the loss of a child, but that was territory neither was anxious to consider, much less explore. What they had barely survived was loss enough for one lifetime.

 

Max’s stomach growled. “Penny, are you up for lunch?” he asked. “I’m thinking casual; there’s a great little walk-up café at the beach, and it’s too nice a day to waste indoors. I don’t want you to think I’m cheap, but you’ll like this place. And the view is unbeatable!”

 

Penny, who hadn’t bothered with breakfast, was more than ready for a feed-up and within less than 10 minutes the two were headed westward in Max’s little red Miata, top down and wind in their hair.

 

“Y’know, I’m glad you and Lucifer met and that he works with my daughter,” Penny smiled at him with a mixture of sympathy and gratitude. “It may be my imagination, but good things seem to happen around that man. What is he, magic?”

 

The lawyer grinned. “It is unusual that he’s a police consultant. A night club owner, living the high life in LA, working for the _cops?_ ”

 

Penny’s eyes were twinkling. “I think perhaps my daughter has something to do with that. The way those two look at each other; honestly, I just can’t believe how long it’s taking them to admit it!”

 

They both laughed. “Caught that last night when we were at Lux. There’s definitely something there, you’re right. Hey, I’m all for romance and happy endings. Doesn’t happen often enough in my opinion.

 

“And since you’re having a good day, could I tempt you into joining me somewhere nice for dinner, as well?”

 

Penelope beamed at him. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Mr. Henderson. It’s been awhile since I had a dinner date with an attractive gentleman!”

 

 _Very attractive_ , she thought to herself with a little smile.

 

***********

 

 

They had had a wonderful evening at Lux for the Motown Revival, singing along to the old sixties classics, even dancing to one or two.. Everyone knew the words to nearly all the songs and the crowd in the club was having a wonderful time, the atmosphere bright and drunkenly cheerful.

 

“You were right, Linda,” Chloe was sipping her third (or was it her fourth?) drink, and winked at the doctor. “Just what I needed…….and my mum too!” The detective was still impressed as hell that one of LA’s most famous attorneys _ever_ had taken on Penny’s case.

 

And he seemed to be a real gentleman. When her mother had begun to fade, he had offered to drive her home, having had only two drinks separated by a good hour. Though Penny’s face had become a little drawn, there was a twinkle in her eye when she accepted his offer and Chloe could tell that her mother was enjoying the attention of the very attractive attorney.

 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she told her as the two took their leave, “I really want to talk to some of the others in your pain group, if they’d be willing.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart,” Penny said, as she hugged her daughter, then took the arm that Henderson offered. Chloe noted his smile as he guided the actress through the crowded club, and she knew her mother was in very good hands.

 

_Thanks to Lucifer._

 

The very one who was now wiggling his eyebrows at the two women. “Can I tempt you both to a nightcap in the penthouse?”

 

Linda looked at Chloe. “Um, wouldn’t you two rather be alone?”

 

The detective jumped in just a little too quickly, “I was planning on calling an Uber--”

 

Lucifer added, “The invitation is for you both, or I wouldn’t have made it,” and smiling brightly (while hoping his wide smile hid his disappointment) when the women nodded in agreement.

 

 _It doesn’t really matter_ , he thought to himself as the three took the elevator up to his private apartment.

 

He and ‘his’ detective had, after all, reached quite a new level of intimacy, despite it not being the kind of intimacy that Lucifer would have preferred. Yet with her it seemed far more natural than actually jumping into bed and making about a hundred of his favorite fantasies become real.

 

Now that she _knew_ , it had removed the shield she had raised between them in the last few months, the shield that protected her innermost thoughts and feelings.

 

 _Odd, she’s become more trusting._ The Devil chuckled to himself; he’d actually become somewhat _shy_ around her. _Him_. A being with no boundaries whatsoever. The ‘why’, he knew all too well.

 

He had vowed to Chloe and to himself, that he would be whatever she needed him to be. Until she was _ready_ ………and it surprised him that this very thought also gave him an inward (and unexpected) pleasure.

 

“Ladies,” he gestured grandly as the elevator doors opened.

 

He was glad he hadn’t asked the kitchen staff to set up an intimate table for two. They had put together a few of the club’s choicest hors d’oeuvres on a large covered platter and had merely placed it on the bar. Lucifer himself had headed upstairs a half hour before to open a bottle of his favorite _grand cru_ , and allow it to properly breathe. He was relieved that he had not bothered to set out the two wine glasses, as he originally planned…..

 

“I thought a late night snack might be just the thing. Might I offer both of you a rather excellent Bordeaux?   There’s some tempting tidbits for you on the bar, or some pastries, if you’d prefer…..”

 

“Ooh, this looks good!” Linda exclaimed as the Devil uncovered the waiting tray and reached for three large goblets.

 

Chloe nodded in agreement, eyeing the iced prawns and reaching for something yummy that topped a small cracker, realizing both she and Linda had skipped dinner. The small veggie plate they’d shared downstairs had not been enough to really constitute an evening meal.

 

The three talked for hours, Linda and Chloe sitting together on the smaller of the two couches, Lucifer alone in the matching chair. The women were full of questions and he found himself, for once, not minding the prodding, answering as best he could and laughing with them in genuine amusement. It felt rather wonderful to be able to truly relax with both of them….. _two humans who knew his true identity, and still cared about him. Two **real** friends._

 

After another bottle of wine had vanished, along with several delectable pastries from Lucifer’s favorite bakery, he noticed that both women were beginning to fade.

 

Chloe glanced over at Linda, who had gone very quiet, and noted the doctor’s eyes were closed as she leaned against the padded arm of the very comfortable sofa.

 

She turned to look at her partner, somewhat slurring “I think we’ve lost Linda--”   Her own head was beginning to spin just a little.

 

Lucifer chuckled. “I’ll get her a blanket, no reason to wake her……”

 

When he returned from his bedroom with a couple of comfortable throws he was only a bit surprised to hear a soft little snore from his beautiful detective, who was now half-reclined at the other end of the couch.

 

He smiled at them both and quietly draped a soft throw over each of them.

 

 

*************

 

“You should meet my friends,” her mother had said.

 

Simple enough: Chloe would hang out for an evening with her mother and the pain patients Penelope Decker had bonded with. She'd listen to their stories and get a better idea of what chronic pain meant in 21st century America. Science had discovered how to transplant the human heart; what could be so difficult about treating _pain?_

 

The detective knew health issues were often a favorite topic for anyone dealing with more than a head cold. She was positive her mom's friends would be pleased to have a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, right?

 

Not.

 

“I'm so sorry, honey,” Penelope told her when Chloe called to check in on Saturday afternoon. “Some of us wouldn't mind talking to you, but the others won't go along with it.”

 

“My badge?”

 

“Your badge,” Penny agreed. The ones who objected are getting by with whatever they can score on the street. They're paranoid, and can you blame them?”

 

She couldn't. Two weeks ago, the detective would have been horrified at the idea of her mother in the company of illegal drug users. Then again, two weeks ago she believed Lucifer was a mildly delusional playboy with boundary issues, Maze was a temperamental, knife-happy bounty hunter and Marcus Pierce... _Cain!..._ was a law-and-order lieutenant with LA's finest (and a man she'd considered marrying).

 

Life plodded along, step by boring step, with maybe a skip here and a hop there, but _predictable_ , lulling the detective into a familiar routine of motherhood and job. Then with ** _NO FUCKING WARNING AT ALL_** her entire world flipped upside down and shook itself, with everything she was so sure about falling out on the sidewalk and rolling down the sewer grate.

 

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't.

 

Chloe Decker had to laugh at herself; some detective _she_ was. Other people's crimes? Sure, she could sniff out a lie and spot a false alibi with the best of 'em. But when it came to her _own_ life and the people she was closest to...

 

 _I saw what I wanted to see. I believed what was easiest, what caused the fewest problems for me._ _What kind of person am I?_ She wasn't sure she liked the answer.

 

“Honey?” Her mum’s voice startled her back to reality.

 

“Sorry, mum, I was just thinking about what you just said. We’ll figure something out, ok? I really want to meet them, but, well, I guess you’re right--”

 

“I’ll put some feelers out, sweetheart,” Penny said brightly, “But I have to go now and get ready for my date.”

 

For a nanosecond it did not register, then Chloe said, “Your date? You have a date?”

 

“Yes, dear, I have a date. The delightful Mr. Henderson is taking me out to dinner. Gotta go now and get ready – it takes me a bit longer these days and he’ll be here in an hour,” and with that she hung up.

 

Chloe stared at the phone in her hand before a sudden thought made her punch Linda’s number.

 

It was Saturday afternoon, soon to be Saturday night. Chloe decided it was time to call an emergency meeting of the tribal council (saving a place for Maze, should she ever decide to rejoin them).

 

In less than an hour, she, Linda and Ella were clustered together around a pitcher of daiquiris at a nearby bar. They'd wisely chosen to avoid the tiki bar where the Tribe had been formed and bonded by an epic brawl. As this drinking establishment was willing to extend Happy Hour for unaccompanied 'ladies', all forms of combat were avoided – nobody wanted to wear out their welcome when pitchers were only $4 'til 8 pm.

 

Ella poured the first round and opened the meeting by tapping a cue stick against their pitcher, which was filled with an unidentifiable fizzing substance in a suspicious shade of lime green. It looked radioactive. “Lemme guess, Chloe. It's about your mom's pain group, right?”

 

The tribe was up-to-date on Penelope's physical woes and challenges, and determined to help.

 

Chloe nodded.

 

“And they won't talk to you because you're a cop.” That was Ella _and_ Linda, together. The two tribeys looked at each other and nodded.

 

“Did you think they _would?_ ” Linda asked. “Chloe, these people don't trust the 'system'. They've been badly hurt by law enforcement's insistence on pressuring doctors to stop prescribing opiates. Most of them signed their narcotics contracts and followed the rules to the letter.

 

“They lost their prescriptions anyway, for no reason other than their doctors are frightened of losing _their_ licenses. No, people in pain are _not_ going to trust anyone with a badge once they learn they can only get pain meds from a dealer.

 

“You'll have to find another way.”

 

Ella power-swigged her drink, emitted a lady-like belch and shared another of her car-boosting adventures in the wilds of south Detroit. “’member when you were in the hospital because that crazy professor poisoned you? Dan and I went to my bro's chop shop... did he tell you about that?”

 

Another shake of the detective's head. A _chop shop?_ No, Dan had not said a word about it.

 

“Okay, anyway, my bro had totally ghosted me because I was working for you guys and he was using stuff to make cars go faster for racing that was, like, so totally illegal to have! So I big-sistered him into giving us what we needed, Lucifer got the formula for the rest of it and, like, here we are!”

 

She lifted her glass in a toast, realized it was empty and drained the remains of the pitcher. Linda also saluted the gods of “fate” and gave a quiet nod to one particular Celestial Being who was the only reason Chloe Decker ( _and Lucifer too_ ) still walked the earth rather than being reduced to a fading memory.

 

Ella continued: “Look, here's my point: My brother didn't even tell me he was out here because... _cops!_ He says I have a big mouth, which is _totally_ not true, I _don't_ have a big mouth... do I, like, have a big mouth?”

 

Her friends nodded.

 

“Oh. Well, anyone doing anything illegal won't want cops within a mile of 'em. Even if you _are_ Penelope's kid.”

 

Linda swiped a basket of deep-fried onion rings off the bar and tore into one. “I coordinate a pain therapy group for a chain of clinics, and we talk about illegal opiates. I make sure everyone knows not to specifically say they're using, just refer to 'someone I know who...'. That keeps me from being targeted and they don't have to worry that I'll be forced to give them up.”

 

“Hey, no, cops can't _do_ that!” Ella argued. “You're a psychiatrist; what about patient confidentially?”

 

“What about not finding my office raided and my notes and client list confiscated?” Linda retorted. “Far as I know, it hasn't happened to any of us shrinks. _Yet_. But, know what? I keep everything backed up and stored off-site. I can run my practice out of my car, if I have to!”

 

 _What the fuck am I up against?_ Chloe wondered. _What the hell is happening in America? This is starting to sound like... East Germany!_

 

She munched an onion ring and considered the situation. Well, if they wouldn't speak to her, maybe they'd talk to...

 

Lucifer? Penny had mentioned that he'd made an off-the-books and entirely unofficial 'donation' to replace the (oh, god, what do I call it?) ... _stuff_ that had been confiscated at the border. If he'd be willing to step in and spread some of the devilish (and who would have guessed how perfect a word that was!) charm around, she might get her interviews, after all.

 

***********************

At Chloe’s request, Lucifer had popped over to her apartment for breakfast Sunday morning, pleased to note that she had done a somewhat competent job at scrambled eggs and bacon. Judging by the lovely aroma, she had even finally bought some decent coffee.

 

“If it would be acceptable to Penelope, I'd be pleased to speak to her friends,” he assured her. “They'll probably be less intimidated by a civilian consultant than an actual badge-flashing officer of the law.”

 

That statement was followed by a pointed look toward her belt where the badge in question usually rested.

 

“Lucifer, I do _not_ 'flash' my badge!” Chloe was taken aback and immediately went on the defensive. “It's an _identification_ , not a weapon!”

 

“Of course, detective. I was referring to certain obnoxious behaviors by members of _other_ law enforcement agencies. I've never seen any badge-flashing by... well... definitely not by _you_.”

 

He was the Devil. He did not lie. Perhaps he stretched the truth on occasion. Possibly neglected to mention a few specifics. But if conclusions were drawn where only implications existed, how was that _his_ fault?

 

Chloe was horrified. “ _Do_ I flash my badge, Lucifer? I hate it when cops do that. _I_ don't... do I?”

 

“Detective...” He took her in his arms. “Any flashing you care to do to me will be more than welcome.”

 

It was not what she'd hoped for, and damned if he was going to get away with it. “ _LUCIFER!!”_ She smacked his arm. “Be serious! This is my career we're talking about. Give me a straight answer, dammit!”

 

Well, that didn't get the response he'd been hoping for. “Chloe.” He sighed. “You are the finest, most ethical law enforcement officer I've ever known. I said once that I thought John Decker would be proud of you, and I see more evidence of that every day.”

 

That would do. Summoning the image of her father always centered Detective Decker and brought her back to reality, even if her present 'reality' was a little different than she'd ever imagined. “So, you'll go with Penelope to the group meeting tonight?”

 

“Of course I will, my dear detective.”

 


	4. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 

As promised, Lucifer swung by the beach house in the Corvette just after the dinner hour, his hands tapping the leather steering wheel as he sang along to David Bowie blasting from the car radio.

 

Penelope Decker had obviously been ready for his arrival and didn’t bother to invite him in, instead flashing a smile as she made her way to the car. He noticed she was wearing comfortable flats beneath light summer trousers and a loose blouse, hair arranged up because of the heat, and wondered idly if today had been a little rougher than the previous two. Chloe had told him of her mother’s obsession for fashionable heels, no matter how she was feeling.

 

But if she was uncomfortable, she gave no hint, simply telling him the address where they would be meeting the pain group.

 

“I want you to be prepared, Lucifer,” she said as he pulled out into traffic. “When you’re not used to it, some of the stories can be, well, pretty horrific…”

 

Lucifer laughed inwardly. A near-eternity spent in Hell had hardened the devil's heart to human tears. He had seen the suffering of the innocent, repeated endlessly as guilty sinners relived their personal Hell Loops over and over again; the murders, the rapes, the tortures of children, the destruction of cultures, deliberate genocides, the destruction of huge swaths of the planet, calculated attacks on the very web of life itself… never ending, always escalating, the howls of the damned screaming along with their victims.

 

And he had steeled himself against the tidal wave of fury those personal scenes engendered in him. He had to, even when he occasionally came up with some very creative tortures to add to the self-flagellation his charges endured. He was fully aware that the 'victims' in Hell were phantom memories created by the guilty, not real souls somehow sucked into the Abyss with their torturers.

 

He had only met ‘real’ victims in his work with the LAPD, most of them already dead and presumably on their way to the Silver City.

 

He had never had to deal with the anguish and misery of those whose only 'sin' had been born into the wrong bodies. That this evening was going to be an eye-opener, even for an immortal being who had existed since the beginning of time, was the furthest thing from his mind. So the Corvette made an incongruous sight as he parked it at the Quaker hall on the outskirts of Pomona, where the pain group met

 

Penelope introduced Lucifer to those present and those who couldn’t make it in person. Several members were connected via Skype, their screens providing face-time with the rest of the participants.

 

“Hi, Lucifer!” sang out one member, who was communicating with the group via her laptop. Cherie rarely left her house, Penny explained. “Her spine and hips are so messed up she has to use an electric wheelchair and have a special taxi take her where she wants to go. She's one of our tele-commuting members.”

 

Three other people were sharing split-screens, set up to form a partial circle, nodding politely as Penelope made the necessary introductions.

 

Cheerful little Cherie ripped through a list of her disabilities quickly. “Diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis at seven, started using a wheelchair at 14, and now working on my Masters at UCLA in patient advocacy counseling,” she informed him. “If I can stay alive, I'll be a child patient advocate working out of pediatric wards.”

 

“Tell him what that is, girlfriend,” Penelope said.

 

Cherie's face went solemn. “Sometimes, parents abandon their children at the hospital. If they won't come see the kid but refuse to give up custody, then there's nobody to speak for the kid, nobody to intervene.”

 

Lucifer was baffled. His only personal contact with children had been with the Detective's spawn, Beatrice, a small human he assumed was healthy and of above-average intelligence (and possessing no small degree of clever aptitude, if the Devil was any judge of it). Perhaps that was why the detective was so fiercely protective of her. “Excuse me for asking the obvious, but why would someone leave a perfectly good child behind?”

 

The young woman waved a bamboo backscratcher at her screen. “Ah _ha_ , there's the question! And the answer is because the children aren't 'perfectly good'. They're sick, they're deformed, they're constantly back and forth between home and hospital. They demand a lot of work, a lot of care, more time than most parents have, and we're not always the most pleasant people to be around.”

 

The Pentecostal Coin dropped. “ _You_ were one of the children left at a hospital?”

 

She reached for a pen, and Lucifer saw how small and twisted her hand was, classic signs of savage arthritic damage. “Yeah. From age nine to 12 I lived full time on a pediatric ward. Know who the doctors use when they want to demonstrate a procedure on a live body?”

 

Her voice rose. “Adult patients might refuse to cooperate, but kids don't know they're allowed to say 'no' to anything their doctor wants. Got any idea what it's like to undergo a vaginal exam at age 12 with four or five doctors looking on?

 

“Once I get my degree, I'll make sure no one else has to go through that.

 

“ _Ever_.”

 

The group was silent. “Some of the nurses were rougher than they needed to be,” Cherie continued. “Most hospitals are understaffed, and the nurses and orderlies get tired and stressed out. I needed a lot of care, and because there was no one to speak up for me it was always something that got left to the end of their shift and maybe they weren't always as meticulous as they needed to be for procedures.”

 

One of the group members who had known Cherie for years took over her story. “The doctors didn't know how to treat childhood RA, and they gave her huge doses of ibuprofen to get the inflammation down, which was way too much for a developing child. It ate a large hole in her stomach.”

 

The Devil thought of the parade of beautiful women who strutted through Lux each night, teetering on high heels, perfectly sculpted calf muscles flexing and slender arms swinging. He thought of his Detective, chasing down suspects and fiercely knocking them to the ground if they resisted arrest. He though of Beatrice, feet flying as she practiced double-dutch jump-rope moves with a friend.

 

Cherie hadn't been able to walk since she was nine; told by the doctors to remain still and not stretch her gradually contracting muscles, she was now frozen into a shell of a person. Only her hands moved.

 

Robin, the group leader, took over. “Vic? You up for telling your story?”

 

A grizzled man of indeterminate age had been sitting silently at the back of the room. He slowly rose to his feet, cane in hand, and lumbered to the center of the circle. “M'name's Vic, US Army, First Cav, we hit an IED, Swat Valley, medivaced out 11 hours later, routed to 95th Evac, Germany, Walter Reed, rehab. Still here.”

 

Old soldiers and wounded vets were the first to feel the effects of the opioid cutback. But their bad luck kept right on coming; because they were in the federal system, VA doctors weren't allowed to recommend cannabis – still considered a deadly drug with no medical value by the feds – for their patients. Some facilities even demanded patients be drug-tested.

 

But... _eleven_ _hours_ before a chopper could get to him? “We were where we weren't supposed to be,” Vic mumbled. The thought of lying wounded and helpless in unfriendly territory was chilling. “They used us for target practice. We were down to the last of our ammo when we heard the chopper coming in. They had to wait for dark so the Pakis couldn't identify 'em.”

 

Lucifer started to ask him for details when the man carefully unbuttoned his shirt and peeled to the waist. His skin was a roadmap of burn tissue and pitted by what appeared to be a bullet hole next to a long surgical scar. “I got shot in the back as I was helping load my men on the chopper. Bullet grazed my spine.

 

“Don't walk so good now. Did okay until they took my oxy.”

 

The evening was a parade of the sick and broken. Every story was different, but everyone was facing the same nightmare of uncontrolled pain inflicted for no reason other than bureaucratic obstinacy.

 

“They make us jump through ‘opioid alternative’ hoops... useless therapies and brain-candy drugs that don't do a damn thing to touch the pain,” said one woman. “My doctor told me Gabapentin would keep me from feeling what was happening in my body.

 

“I'll tell you what it did: It ruined my memory! I bought groceries and left them at the store. Forgot appointments, forgot directions... lost the best job I'd ever had, thanks to that shit.”

 

Patients told of delayed appointments, rude medical personnel and suspicious pharmacists who refused to fill their prescriptions. “Why does some pharmacist get to decide that I'm taking too many opioids when he hasn't even examined me?” one man asked angrily. “I tried to show him my back, my surgery scars. He told me to get out of his store or he'd call the cops!”

 

“We can't even sue the government for doing this to us,” Cherie told Lucifer. “The feds are acting like the Gestapo and getting away with it. They've got people looking at us like we're addicts and pushers, as if _we're_ responsible for all the overdoses!”

 

Vic smiled, but there was no joy in his eyes. “I heard the VA has stopped counting vets who use a gun to kill themselves as 'suicide' deaths, and now says they're all 'accidental'. Makes the brass look better if they blame it on mistakes instead of their own cowardice.”

 

Lucifer was bombarded with descriptions of diseases and injuries that belonged in medical books, not suffered by real people. Words and phrases like Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, MS, ALS, fasciculation syndrome, neuromyotonia, trigeminal neuralgia, CRPS, and arthritis in its many and varied forms, all surrounded him like moths around a flame.

 

“My doctor told me I had to be in a hospice program before I could get the pain meds I need,” Joannie, a gaunt woman with arms like sticks told him. “I've been fighting uterine cancer for years, and _damned_ (Lucifer winced) if I'm signing up with hospice! I'm happy with _my_ doctor and _my_ clinic; hospice wants me to use _their_ alternatives – _their_ doctors, _their_ nurses, _their_ medicines. Their tests, their rules.

 

“I haven't needed a mother since I was 12 and I don't need one now. I live alone, and hospice wants me to go into a nursing home when _they_ decide I need 'supportive care'. I'll die in the fucking street before I let that happen to me!”

 

She bared her teeth and the devil was reminded of a fierce rat he'd encountered as he and Mazikeen were fleeing the chaos of Rome as the city fell to the Vandals. The rat was gaunt, ferocious and nearly the size of a small dog. Maze had moved to slash its throat, but Lucifer was impressed with the creature's courage and called her off. The beast had shot him a look of... hate? No... _defiance_. If it was going down, it was going down fighting.

 

He'd smiled, and the rat turned away, disappearing into the weeds. For some reason, Lucifer hoped it survived.

 

“I was on a fork lift when it fell over, breaking my back,” Ben told him. “Nobody knew the company owner had a gambling addiction; instead of payroll taxes and our health insurance premiums, he was pocketing the payments we thought _WE_ had been making to the government. I was still in the hospital when I learned I didn't have any coverage and nothing I'd earned working there had gone into social security. I was literally hung out to dry.”

 

When the business went bankrupt and closed its doors days later, the hospital where Ben was lying immobile had their orderlies tie his broken body into a wheelchair and roll him out to the curb. His wife picked him up and became both doctor _and_ nurse to her husband.

 

“All my options were charity. Look, I worked all my life – never made big bucks, but never took no pity money off nobody,” he told the devil. “But when our savings ran out a few months later, we didn't have no other option.

 

“I can take the pain. It's the _humiliation_ , the social workers who want us to account for every dime and go through our fridge to make sure we ain't eating steak and drinking champagne, the nurses who have way too many clients and not enough time, the way I have to use the toilet...”

 

Lucifer looked away and put a hand on Ben's shoulder. This was not a time for one of his handkerchiefs; another man's tears needed to remain unnoticed. Dan had taught him that, as he grieved for Charlotte.

 

Ben cleared his throat and continued. “You asked, so I'll tell you: I have to use a rubber glove to take a shit. The doc the county sends me to speaks what they admit is 'limited English'. He insists I have to get to physical therapy twice a week before he'll write me an oxy script.

 

“Man, we don't have the money for the wheelchair taxi, and the one time I did make it to therapy they demanded I try to move my legs the way they thought I should. 'It's in your records that you can do it', they told me. When I showed them how bad my back was and that I've only got partial use of my legs, they said they were sorry but I had to be capable of a certain range of movement or I wasn't eligible for their program.

 

“That's what charity gets you, dude. ”

 

Ben admitted he was one of the group members who was uncomfortable with Chloe's presence. “Look, I'm sure she's a nice lady, but I can't be letting a cop see my face. I'm easy enough to spot in this chair. I'm gettin' by on what I can score, and, yeah, I have to deal a little bit to afford that. But I'm not askin' for no help with my pain. They can keep their fuckin' rules and regulations and shove 'em up their...”

_Lucifer, can I tell my story? Lucifer, this happened to me. Lucifer, we're not monsters. Lucifer, we're dying. Lucifer, we're in pain. Lucifer, it hurts. Lucifer... Lucifer... Lucifer..._

 

The Devil wanted to cover his ears and scream for them to **_stop!!!_** They were not evil souls deserving of his hellish punishments; these were broken people, men and women with families and dreams who were suffering terribly because of accidents of fate. _Rafael, angelic healer, we need you here! Brother, **I** need you!_

 

But Rafael had remained _incognito_ since the Fall. Humans had their own doctors, their own medicine... why were they suffering more than their ancient ancestors did? He felt, for a moment, the way his younger half-brother probably did when crowds of lepers and beggars surrounded him crying for his blessing.

 

Penny realized Lucifer had heard enough.

 

“My friend has to get back to work; I want to thank you all for allowing him to sit in on one of our meetings,” she announced. “I promise, everything said here tonight will remain confidential.

 

“And we appreciate you sharing your stories. I'll see you all next week.”

 

As Lucifer turned to leave, Ben stretched out a hand to shake his. “Penny told us you sent that package. I just wanted to say thanks, they were a god-send.”

 

The devil shook the man’s hand, nodded to the rest of the group and quickly made his exit to the parking lot. Penny found him leaning against the Corvette, smoking a cigarette, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he raised it to his lips.

 

“So, Lucifer, did it get a little intense?”

 

“It did,” he said softly. To Lucifer, drugs were a convenient expression of his own self-indulgence. He used them for _entertainment_ , as a way to momentarily lift or lower himself into a different head space. Very few drugs altered his consciousness for more than a few minutes; he could use doses that would kill a human and feel only a slight buzz. Only the Haldol the crazy nurse had dosed him with in the mental hospital had had any long effect on his celestial constitution.

 

For the immortal Lucifer Morningstar, drugs were like alcohol: He could consume as much as he wanted with no lasting effects. His body healed almost instantaneously unless Chloe was around.

 

He felt a touch of shame thinking of the stash he kept in his penthouse. _Enough to look after all these people for months…_ He didn’t _need_ the drugs; to him they were just another sensual experience on the earth plane.

 

The Devil shuddered. “None of them were making it up or exaggerating, were they?”

 

“Nope. In fact, several kept some details back. Cherie was put in the hospital because social workers had to intervene. When she was living at home, her mother used her for a punching bag and her father raped her.”

 

His hands froze on the steering wheel, and the plastic screeched in protest against the fierce strength in his grip. They were both lucky he had not yet pulled out of the parking lot.

 

“That's not uncommon with disabled kids; they often become a target for dysfunctional relatives,” Penny continued. “The disabled take a lot of extra work and support, and sometimes overstressed and overextended caregivers take out their frustrations on them.

 

“Imagine the hell a disabled child who can't tell anyone what's happening to them goes through.”

 

Lucifer felt a hot gush of rage that started in the center of his gut. It was the same rage he felt when Father Frank had taken his last breath, a fire that pulsed inside him -- cold, dark and implacable.

 

He turned to look at Penny, unaware that his anger had raised the red glow in his eyes.

 

Penny gasped in astonishment when she looked at his face. His _eyes!_ She stared open-mouthed and they became dark brown again, as he focused on the road. She shook her head, suddenly unsure of what she'd seen.

 

An odd reflection off a car's taillights? Or maybe... But everything about Lucifer now seemed normal. _No_ , she told herself, _he keeps saying he’s the Devil. What if he really is? Must be the drugs._ He couldn’t be telling the truth... c _ould he? Is my only child involved with **the devil**? _

 

She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Wolves and hyenas fall on crippled pack members and tear them to bits. That's more merciful than what some humans do to their own children. Our species isn't so far removed from being vicious animals, but animals don't know any better and we do _._ At least, we’re _supposed_ to.”

 

“Hence, Hell.” Lucifer wondered if she really knew she’d just hit the nail on its proverbial head.

 

Most of the trip back to the beach house was spent in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When Lucifer dropped Penelope off, he walked her solicitously to the front door, and told her quietly, “Don’t worry about the medications, Penny. I swear, I will do what I can to help your group.”

 

*********

 

Instead of heading back to the penthouse, Lucifer made the sudden decision to swing by the detective’s apartment. A phone call wasn't enough; he needed to share -- with _her_ \-- what he was feeling about the pain group. Linda had told him over and over again that “feelings were _hard,”_ but she hadn't gone into detail about _how_ difficult it was to cope with both rage _and_ pity, especially when they hit him at the same time.

 

He saw Dan’s car parked out front. _Of course; it’s Sunday night and Dan would be returning Beatrice to her mother_. It was something Dan did most Sunday nights since the two had separated. Lucifer realized with a rueful smile that his mind said ‘Dan’ now, instead of ‘the douche’ and wondered when that had changed.

 

Trixie greeted him at the door, throwing her arms around his waist before grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. Dan and Chloe turned to look at him. Both were surprised to see Lucifer awkwardly return their child’s hug and answer her questions about “Grandma Penny” with a patient “she’s fine, little human, and sends her love.”

 

They exchanged a look. Chloe wondered when her daughter had been upgraded from 'spawn'.

 

“How did it go with Mom's pain group, Lucifer?”

 

The Devil looked down at Beatrice, who was beaming at him. “It was... let us say, 'educational'. I met a number of interesting people I might not have encountered at Lux.” He focused an eye on Chloe that said ‘we’ll talk later’.

 

Dan took the civilian consultant's arrival as his cue to leave, grabbing his daughter in a dad-hug, and planting a kiss on top of the child’s head. Trixie stood at the door and waved wildly as his car pulled away.

 

Lucifer wasn’t certain why he felt the need to be with Chloe that evening, only that he did.

 

*********

 

Dan's weekend with Trixie had been a replay of their usual time together, yet... it felt like more than the usual father-daughter bonding he'd come to expect. The girl was special, different from other kids – _sure, she's my daughter, smarter, prettier_ – but there was something about her he was slowly coming to appreciate. Trixie had a way of sensing what those around her needed. She could lift him out of his cloud of adult darkness just by her smile, hug, or a light touch on his arm. She seemed mature beyond her years, yet still a sweet little kid. As a dad, it impressed him. As _her_ dad, it made him proud.

 

He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever cosmic magic had graced him with this pixie who always seemed so happy with whatever life sent her way, adding an unspoken plea that his girl be spared the ugliness he saw every day on the job. Like all homicide investigators, he'd encountered far too many children hardened beyond their years by violence they either witnessed or became the targets of. Murders rarely happened like random lightning strikes; all too often, they built on a foundation of unkindness and cruelty that typically infected everyone who came in contact with victim and perpetrator.

 

As he fiddled with the key to his apartment door, a familiar voice startled him. “Hello, Dan,” Amenadiel said. “You and I need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you about my brother and myself… and Charlotte.

 

“And I have a message for you.”

 

*********

 

Monday morning had Chloe still thinking of the stories Lucifer had told her about the members of her mother’s pain group. The Devil had been disturbed by the encounters, his descriptions of their individual plights intense.

 

But it was more than that. His facial expressions, his speech patterns and demeanor told her that what bothered him went deeper than just the suffering of her mother’s friends. When asked for specifics, though, he'd become evasive and refused to meet her gaze. Something was bothering him; she'd caught the flash of red behind his eyes more than once as he recounted their histories.

 

Detective Chloe Decker had no way of knowing that her 'civilian consultant' had been formulating a job for his personal demon and former bartender, one involving tracking down the birth parents of a certain very brave and resilient UCLA student to administer an appropriate punishment…

 

His mood this morning was certainly brighter, as they discussed what was to become of Pierce’s unwanted corpse, still lying on a slab in the morgue.

 

“I took the liberty of hiring a funeral director,” he told her with a sunny smile. Noticing her raised eyebrow, Lucifer quickly added “Oh, there won’t be a ‘celebration of life’.” His look became darker. “Just a plain pine box and an unmarked grave – not that he deserves even that.

 

“His remains are being collected this morning.” He glanced up at the wall clock. “In fact right around now.”

 

“Seems a waste of money to me.” Chloe glanced at him. “I’d just as soon take that... _him_ to a swamp somewhere and just drop him in.”

 

Lucifer responded with his best British 'tsking'. “Come now,” he told her, “innocent animals live in swamps. You wouldn’t want to poison an ecosystem, now, would you?” He saw the corners of her lips curl slightly.

 

“Okay, the city dump then, along with the rest of LA’s garbage...”

 

Their vengeful musings on the unlamented lieutenant were interrupted by Chloe’s buzzing phone.

 

A nearly hysterical Ella was on the line, apparently speaking Klingon and obviously making less sense than usual. Lucifer watched Chloe’s face adopt a look of complete bewilderment. “Ella... _Ella!_ Calm down, _please!!_ We’re on our way. Just tell them to wait until we get there.”

 

She gave Lucifer the hairy eyeball. “Seems your funeral guys got a surprise when they came to take out the garbage.” She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. “We’re needed in the morgue.”

 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow as they headed for the precinct basement and trotted down the tunnel connecting their building to the city morgue. “Pierce’s body – sorry, _Cain’s_ body – is missing.”

 

Chaos reigned at the morgue’s main desk, attendants from Anderson's Funeral Home waiting nervously to transport the now-missing corpse. The county coroner, Dr. Lawrence Paterson, was conferring with Ella, the latter’s face pale and confused, as she waved them into the cold room where the deceased were temporarily housed while pick-up and disposal arrangements were being finalized.

 

The room looked like just what it was, with banks of slabs on both sides. The one that had held their former lieutenant stood open. It was, indeed, empty.

 

Well, not _quite_ empty – both Lucifer and the detective noted an ashy residue coating the bed of the slab.

 

“What’s going on here?” Chloe turned to the coroner, who cleared his throat.

 

“The Andersons' dieners arrived half an hour ago to claim the remains. This is what we found.” He waved a hand at the slab. “It's gone.”

 

“Did someone filch our former commander?” Lucifer asked, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable. “I’m rather sure that no one would _want_ the miscreant.” That remark earned the Devil a stink-eye from the detective.

 

“I want a look at the security tapes!” Ella demanded, glancing up at the camera near the ceiling.

 

“The feed goes to one of the computers at reception; there’s a camera at the entrance and another in the autopsy room,” Dr. Paterson offered. “We'll have it ready in a minute.”

 

Ella’s brow was furrowed. “See this ash?” She rubbed a pinch between her fingers and looked at the other three. “Y’know what this looks like? This is kind of what you’d expect to see after someone is _cremated_ – once all the body fluids and tissue are burned off , what’s left is a few pounds of ash and maybe some bone fragments.

 

“What I don’t understand is why someone would take the body, cremate it and then put the ashes back in the morgue. It doesn’t make any sense!

 

“And who’d want to do that, anyway?”

 

She nodded at one of her techs who’d followed them in and instructed him to collect the residue for analysis. The coroner waved them into reception and quickly cued up the previous night’s security footage, fast-forwarding through the entire evening. As expected, there was no activity until about midway through the night, when the footage seemed to stutter, showing a crackle and a bright flash.

 

“Go back,” Chloe told him, “Play that bit again in real time.” As one, the group leaned toward the monitor, fascinated. One single bright flash was recorded and time-stamped at 2:22 a.m. The screen showed a surge of electronic snow, as if a sudden charge had gone through the camera equipment, then an empty room reappeared at 2:23 a.m.

 

Replaying the recording had no effect on the glitch, and the room remained entirely unchanged until the entrance of the coroner and the funeral home attendants a half-hour before Chloe and Lucifer had arrived.

 

“You see?” Paterson shrugged. “Nobody, _nothing_ all damned night. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

 

Chloe looked at him. “When did you last open that unit?”

 

“Yesterday, before I went home. We received the pick-up notification from Anderson's, took a quick look at the body, and, yeah, it was right there on the slab just like it’s been all week long. I rolled it back into the vault, secured the unit, put the paperwork on the reception desk and went home. I swear, the body was there and intact – that will be on the recording too.

 

“I’m confused.” He shook his head. “Nothing could burn a body that fast, it takes hours in a crematorium at 2,000 degrees to reduce a body to ash! This just is **_not_** possible – even the hottest fire would still take hours to do this, and would have damaged everything around it.”

 

“Could someone have doctored the footage?” Chloe looked at Ella. When you have eliminated the possible...

 

“I don't see how, but I’ll take the camera unit to the lab and check it out,” she told Chloe uncertainly. “But the playback seems intact. I’m not sure what's going on…” Ella’s face had the deep furrows of an excited lab tech investigating a baffling forensics mystery. A good puzzle could keep her occupied for hours...

 

****************

 

No one could see her, of course, unless she wanted to be seen. Not even her favorite and _oh, so clever_ celestial brother. Standing close enough to Ella that she could administer an unexpected wedgie, Azrael smiled at the group.

 

Lucifer would put it together eventually, but right now the Angel of Death was quite pleased with herself and the delicious mystery she’d handed them.

_...you can all thank me later..._

 

She’d come to see her human friend, to convince her not to leave LA. Seeing her brother was a happy bonus. She wondered what he'd say if he knew dear ol’ _Dad_ had instructed her to rid the earth of Cain’s body.

 

“What took you so long?” probably.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end, only another chapter or two to go. Next installment probably up on Sunday. Hope you enjoyed this one!


	5. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 

 

Dan was confused, but he invited Amenadiel in and offered him a drink, which the angel gratefully accepted.

 

“Ok, what is it that you have to tell me?”

 

“Hear me out before you get angry, Dan,” Amenadiel said quietly, taking a seat in the small living room opposite the detective. “I was with Charlotte when she died.”

 

Dan almost spit out a mouthful of vodka. “What do you mean you were ‘with her’?”

 

“Pierce was aiming for me. Charlotte saved my life.”

 

“Bu-but _why_ would Pierce want to kill _you?_ I don’t understand.”

 

“He wanted to kill me and pin the murder on Lucifer, to get my brother out of Chloe’s life for good.”

 

Dan shuddered at the thought of his child’s mother wedded to that foul prick. But he did remember telling Pierce that Lucifer was like Chloe’s pet cat and that he should accept that they came as a pair, that it was worth putting up with him as her working partner. And he remembered Pierce saying the best way to deal with such a situation would be to ‘get rid of the cat’.

 

“What were you doing at the lookout that night?”

 

“It’s a spot I often go to when I want to think. Charlotte just happened to be there when I arrived.” He looked at Dan. “Charlotte and I had become friends in the last few months. She was helping us try to get information on Pierce, something that would stand up legally.”

 

“I know, I found the file…”

 

“She was doing a lot of research into his activities going back to Chicago. And the two of us were watching him. It started with me trying to help my brother.”

 

“Help Lucifer? What do you mean?” Dan was confused. Lucifer seemed the least 'helpless' of anyone he'd ever met.

 

Amenadiel sighed. “My brother was frantic when Chloe started getting involved with Pierce. You can’t have failed to notice that he’s in love with your ex-wife. I’ve known my brother for an eternity, and I have never seen him like this, not with anyone. I didn’t think he had it in him to truly love someone... you know the way he is, the way he lives his life. He’s all about sensual pleasure, _his_ pleasure, physical indulgence. I don't think Lucifer has ever truly been ‘in love’ with someone.

 

“So he asked me to help drive a wedge between Chloe and Pierce. I'll make a long story a little shorter: Charlotte wanted to help. When we filled her in about his criminal activities she got this _look_ on her face. She was the one who suggested we do all we could to find a legal way to bring him down. Charlotte opened a file on him, we tracked him to various meets, saw money changing hands, suspicious people, that sort of thing.”

 

Dan nodded. “I know. I went through the whole file, after _..._ ” He was overcome with the memory of Charlotte's limp body in his arms. His voice trailed away and he took another large gulp of vodka.

 

Amenadiel pretended not to notice. “My brother is not the most trusting sort. He tried to tell Chloe, to warn her, but she brushed him off. He thought she’d fallen in love with Pierce, so what could he do? There really wasn’t any other way to go about it, no one would have believed us.

 

 _“And_ we had no idea who at the precinct might be working with him. That’s why we had to get the proof.”

 

His voice back under manly control, Dan nodded. “I see your point, but what was Charlotte doing at the lookout that night? And how did Pierce know _you’d_ be there?”

 

Amenadiel poured himself another drink before answering. “Pierce must have been following me that night. Charlotte said she often went up to that spot; the view of the city is beautiful from there, especially after dark. She said it made her feel close to heaven, so far above the lights...

 

“We were just talking… about everything, really. Then we heard a twig snap, we both turned and saw Pierce, and Charlotte jumped in front of me just as he fired.” His eyes filled with tears.

 

“She wouldn’t let me call 911. Dan, she _knew_ she was dying and she asked me to stay with her.” Amenadiel’s voice broke as he remembered cradling the dying woman in his arms. His shoulders slumped as he fought to regain his composure.

 

“She loved you. She wanted you to know how much; she asked me to tell you. And to say thanks.” He didn’t add that Charlotte had asked this _after_ he'd carried her spirit to the Silver City. It was obvious the man's emotions were fragile, and this was not the right time to reveal the entire truth.

 

“Why didn’t you stay until the police arrived? I mean, you just left her there!”

 

The dark angel shook his head. “ _I_ didn’t call them. When I heard the sirens, it occurred to me that Pierce must’ve made the call. I couldn’t take the chance he’d join them and maybe finish the job. So I, uh, made myself scarce.”

 

Dan understood. He wouldn’t have put it past Pierce to find some excuse to shoot an innocent man who happened to be comforting the woman who was dying because of him. He nodded at Amenadiel before asking “Where have you been for the last few days?”

 

“I... went home to see my family. Figured I’d be safe there for awhile. I really debated coming back to LA, but, well, I had to see my brother.”

 

“Lucifer killed Pierce.” It was a simple statement, but Dan realized he was very glad it had been Lucifer and Chloe who survived and Pierce who’d be rotting six feet under.

 

“Do you believe in God, Dan?” Amenadiel's question took him by surprise.

 

“What? Yeah, sure, I guess. I was raised Catholic. My mom was a ‘true believer’; Dad not so much. But I’ve been a cop for a lot of years, and it's made me wonder why everything is so damned rotten in this world.

 

“Sometimes I’m not so sure what to believe. Charlotte believed; at least that’s what she said. She kept having nightmares about her family being murdered over and over again by people she'd defended, knowing they were guilty of some pretty awful stuff. That’s why she switched sides and joined the DA’s office.”

 

Amenadiel nodded. “We talked about that often. She was afraid that she was destined for hell. She told me she wanted to spend the rest of her life helping people, to atone for all the bad things she thought she’d done.

 

“Charlotte Richards was a fine person, Dan. I was honored to be her friend.”

 

Dan poured himself another shot, and looked at his unexpected guest. “Well, if there _is_ a heaven and hell and if it’s all real, then I hope Charlotte got her wish and found her redemption.”

 

Amenadiel nodded, smiling gently. “She did. I’m sure of it.” His voice was kind, and tears still glistened in his dark eyes. “All faiths say there is no greater sacrifice than to give your life to save another, as she gave hers to save me.”

 

 

 

*********

 

 

Arriving at the station Monday morning, Dan was still thinking of his conversation with Lucifer’s brother. Something about the man was actually calming, the opposite of the way his sibling seemed to be able to push Dan’s ‘annoyed’ button so easily. The detective wondered which of them was the adopted son.

 

He was surprised to see the station in an uproar and shocked when he stopped to ask what the hell was going on.

 

“What do you mean ‘the body is gone’?”

 

“Pierce’s body – it’s missing from the morgue,” one of the uniforms explained. “It’s just _gone_ , man, no one knows how!”

 

Dan could see Chloe through the glass surrounding their lieutenant’s old office. She was on the phone, standing up behind the desk, Lucifer gesturing at her. Her expression made it obvious she was not enjoying the conversation.

 

Dan was running very late following his evening with Amenadiel. Chloe caught sight of him and waved him over as she finished her conversation.

 

“So, it’s _true?_ ” Dan raised an eyebrow at her. “Pierce has pulled the ultimate disappearing act?”

 

She nodded, then said “Thanks for joining us. It’s not like you to be _this_ late..”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that, I was actually with _your_ brother,” he explained, staring at Lucifer and noted the look of surprise on their consultant’s face. “I take it you haven’t seen him yet.”

 

Lucifer had not, and his expression was unreadable. “I plan on rectifying that today.” He looked over at Chloe, an eyebrow raised.

 

She smiled and gave a quick nod in his direction. “Actually, you can probably take today off ; there’s not much happening now. I’ll see you later when we go see Mom’s neurologist, okay? Be back here around 3:30?”

 

Lucifer grinned at her as he walked to the door, leaving Dan to face the acting lieutenant’s wrath.

 

“Just because we used to be married,” he heard her snap, “doesn’t mean you can drop by any time it’s convenient!” He chuckled to himself and headed for the parking lot.

 

 

 

*********

 

 

 

A few hours later, Detective Chloe Decker, devoted if occasionally exasperated daughter to Penelope Decker, was ready to wring “her” Lucifer’s neck. They hadn’t been talking to her mother’s physician for three minutes when Lucifer (Penny had requested his presence, along with that of Max, her attorney) just _had_ to ask the neurologist if he knew who owned the red ’58 sharktooth-grill Corvette convertible in the clinic’s reserved parking area.

 

And Dr. Tanner Ventner, the very neuro they had come to see (god _damn_ these men!!), admitted to being the proud owner.

 

Of _course_ , he was.

 

And Max owned a classic Aston-Martin, beloved of James Bond when on Her Majesty’s Secret Service, which was the Devil’s cue to start doing his Sean Connery impersonation. Suddenly, what had begun as a solemn professional consult deteriorated into an episode of _Top Gear_ (British version), with all males present sharing (humble-bragging) their vehicle’s specifications, horsepower and general superiority to every other car in existence (present company included).

 

Chloe and Penelope exchanged a look. The sound of eyes rolling could be heard blocks away.

 

Chloe: “Excuse me.”

 

Nothing. The topic was now torque specifications and shifting rpms under power.

 

“ **Ex _CUSE ME!!_** ” That was Penelope, and when emoting under duress in a stage-trained “outdoor voice”, she was capable of silencing a roomful of small children on a sugar high or adult men intent on one-upping each other’s automotive preferences. Trust her mother to know how to shut down a dick-measuring session.

 

The three wannabe Le Mans winners at least had the presence to look embarrassed. Sort of.

 

“I believe my daughter has questions about my health.”

 

The neurologist _ahemed_ and shuffled paper on his desk. “Yes. Sorry.

 

“As your mother told you, she has _myalgic encephalomyelitis,_ or ‘M.E.’. It can cause intense pain throughout the body, and is occasionally misdiagnosed as chronic fatigue syndrome. It’s relapsing/remitting and often unpredictable, which means the symptoms come and go without much warning. Diagnosing M.E. is difficult, but we’ve done extensive testing and we’re sure that’s what Penny has.”

 

Four people became silent.

 

“How... how did she get it? What can she do to get rid of it?” Max was all too accustomed to hearing a diagnosis that brought the world to a screeching halt. He knew the process.

 

“Nearly a million people in the U.S. and 17 million worldwide are coping with M.E., according to the latest stats,” the doctor explained. “Frankly, I think it’s at least _three times_ that many, and probably more. We just don’t know as much as we wish we did.”

 

He shook his head. “Hell, we don’t know as much as we _should_. Right now, neurology is where general medicine was back when penicillin was discovered. The more we learn, the more we realize how little understanding we have about the nervous system and its connections to the brain.”

 

Chloe took her mother’s hand. “So, what’s the prognosis? Is _myal... myalgic encefe..._ M.E. going to...” she swallowed “kill my mom?”

 

Penelope spoke up. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

 

“Mom!!”

 

Her mother smiled. “It is what it is, babe. Us humans can handle a lot more than we think we can.

 

“Now, good news or bad?”

 

Chloe chose the good.

 

“It won’t kill me. I’ll let the doctor give you the bad; it’s what I’m paying him for.”

 

The doctor’s grin was sour. “No, it won’t kill her. She’ll just _wish_ it would.

 

“That’s why she’s being prescribed those opiates you’re worried about. One of the physicians in my practice is a pain specialist, and he’s still able to write scripts for morphine and methadone...

 

“For the moment. But he’s having to taper all his patients way down, and in many cases it’s making their health worse, not better.”

 

Lucifer, who had been playing with a shift knob displayed on the desk, now sat up and joined the conversation. “How can they possibly deny drugs to patients in pain? What do they stand to gain by condemning people like Penelope Decker to _hell_? And believe me, I know what I’m talking about...”

 

Max put a comforting hand on Penny’s shoulder as Chloe took Lucifer’s hand. Four determined people sat ready to defend a friend, a mother, a vulnerable and much-valued member of the human race against whatever threatened her.

 

Ventner dry-washed his face, and Lucifer was sure he heard a growl coming from the man. “It’s _complicated_. Pain patients are caught in a perfect storm of political expediency, greed, suffering, and sheer idiocy, with all factors playing off each other.

 

“When the economy starts to take a downturn or a national crisis appears on the horizon, politicians look for something to distract voters -- a _target_ , if you like. Something to blame for the country’s problems so nobody looks too closely at the real causes. _Especially_ at elected officials' own contributions to those causes.

 

“You’ve all heard about Prohibition, back in the 20’s and early 30’s?”

 

Everyone nodded. Penelope and Max had grown up watching the original _Untouchables_ on ABC, thrilling to the adventures of valiant Prohibition agent Elliot Ness waging a one-man war against Al Capone. Only Chloe was aware that Lucifer had been in the thick of it.

 

“What’s happening today is similar to what happened back then, except now it’s opiates instead of alcohol,” the doctor explained. “People with the best of intentions and a very poor understanding of human nature were positive that alcohol abuse was at the root of all our country’s problems.”

 

 _Paving the road to my old home,_ Lucifer thought.

 

“They believed the answer was to shut down all taverns and distilleries; to make booze impossible to get so drunks would have to dry out and become solid citizens.

 

“You know how well _that_ turned out.”

 

Lucifer concurred. “I believe we can thank the Womens’ Christian Temperance Union and their ilk for organized crime and mass slaughter like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Oh, and everyone’s favorite psychopath Bugsy... sorry, _Ben_ Siegel.”

 

He nodded to the others. “Ben loathed the nickname ‘Bugsy’; probably because it fit him so well.

 

“And when _Ben Siegel_ didn’t like something...”

 

The doctor nodded. “As badly as Prohibition failed, you’d think we’d have learned our lesson, right?

 

“Well, _wrong_. The ‘Great Experiment’ did exactly what it was intended to do for 13 years.”

 

Chloe, who knew something about crime, was lost. “What was keeping people from drinking ‘intended’ to do?”

 

Lucifer couldn’t help himself. “Remember the robber barons? Andrew Carnegie? John D. Rockefeller? People who made millions playing fast and loose with laws and financial regulations around the turn of the last century?”

 

Everyone dug deeply into vague memories of high school history classes and old television shows. Their blank stares told the Devil he needed a better analogy. “They did things that were against the spirit if not the letter of the law, and in the process stole so much money from the public and investors that America was close to financial collapse and possibly on the verge of a second civil war.

 

“Who does that sound like? The smartest guys in the room! It sounds like Enron and Bear Sterns and Arthur Anderson, the bankers, the savings and loan CEOs writ large.

 

“Now, go back 100 years in time: You’d just begun recovering from the First World War, you were still dealing with the cultural chaos of the Civil War, and here were people stealing ordinary farmers blind and scamming honest small business owners. Your _own people!!_ “

 

Chloe heartily hoped nobody noticed his use of “you” instead of “us” and “our”.   But of course, most would just think of him as British.

 

The doctor broke in. “Add in massive changes in the world. It wasn’t limited to a few people getting fabulously rich. With the end of slavery and Reconstruction our culture was changing, and changing _fast_. Very few people were ready for it; everyone else was steamrolled by things like women’s suffrage, improved transportation, the airplane, the telephone, private cars... much like how we’re undergoing profound technological changes today. We like to think we’re ready, that we’re too sophisticated to be flattened by the unexpected.

 

“But we _aren’t_. Not at all. And it’s happening right now, as we’re talking.”

 

The room was quiet. Five well-educated, professional people... well, _four_ and one Celestial who was as old as time, looked at each other in dismay. Not ready for massive changes? Their ancestors, sure. Their grandparents -- who died around the time WWII ended and the horrors of the concentration camps became public -- expected life to be defined by monotonous stability.

 

But not _them_. Never _them_.

 

The doctor sighed deeply. It seemed he was doing that a lot, lately.

 

“Anyway, people were more than happy to accept the idea that drinking was to blame for their problems, and pressured their lawmakers to pass the 18th Amendment. And all hell broke loose.

 

“It was a failure that came at a tremendous cost to the United States. In dollars for that time, bootleggers and speakeasies were making $2 billion _per year_ in raw profit! Those were tax dollars America desperately needed, but the nation never saw a cent. It all went to people like Capone and the Mafia, and turned us into scofflaws. Know who the most popular man in America was, back then?”

 

Lucifer was the Torrence, California Trivial Pursuit champion, having bested everyone at a local tavern event run by a deejay who delighted in researching obscure Wikipedia entries.

 

He leaped from his chair and shouted “ _John Dillinger!_ ” followed with a wild fist pump and earning a scowl from Chloe.. _.._

 

_...oh, for...Lucifer!! Sit down and act your age!_

 

Which might not have been exactly what she meant, considering.

 

Chastened by her scowl and completely missing the smirks from the rest of those in attendance, Lucifer sat. The doctor chuckled.

 

“Yep, for a short period of time a sociopathic murderer became a hero. Americans love the worst among us if they’re flamboyant, colorful and, most important, _tell us what we want to hear._

 

“I’ve told you all this as a way of explaining what physicians working with chronic pain patients are encountering today: Drugs -- especially opioids -- are the ‘demon rum’ of 90 years ago. The laws, the media coverage, are a tool to distract people from our real problems.

 

“Jobs are leaving the country, housing is unaffordable for many Americans, our military veterans are living under _goddamn bridges_ which will fall down soon, and we’re just about to run out of our supply of hope. The fact that we’re not already deep into a recession is due more to luck than good management.”

 

It was Max’s turn to jump in. His investments gave him a unique perspective on the dynamics of the nation’s economic system as it related to votes, which demand a steady flow of campaign donations. Without donations, all politicians know those essential pre-election television commercials disappear.

 

“Politicians who talk about ‘issues’ come up against voter apathy. Every message has to have an emotional hook. Voters don’t want to hear the candidates talk about complex ideas; they want cat videos!”

 

As everyone in the room knew, they also wanted drama. Nothing brings in viewers (and, hopefully, votes) like a good mud-slingin’ free-for-all, with candidates blaming each other for their constituents’ problems and insisting they were the _only_ ones who could make life good again. And if not all the slimy brown material being slung was mud, well, that was only to be expected.

 

And underlying all of it was fear. Max even quoted Aristotle: “Fear does not strike those who are in the midst of great prosperity.”

 

Certainly Chloe had noticed her paycheck seemed to buy less than it used to, and no one could disagree that the cost of living was on an upswing. But it was a stretch to connect the economy with restrictive opiate regulations. What were people like Penelope supposed to do?

 

No one had an answer.

 

“We’ll try to keep you going as long as possible, Penelope,” Dr. Ventner reassured her.

 

“As long as you’re monitoring your vital signs and sticking with that healthy lifestyle, you shouldn’t encounter too many problems at this point.”

 

The unspoken word “yet” hovered in the air.

 

He sighed. “As a health care professional, I hate what this is doing, not just to my patients but to the country. People always seem to be looking for a scapegoat, someone ‘bad’ they can look down on so they can feel better about themselves. Our country is so divided at the moment – maybe it always has been – but we turn on each other like hyenas rather than deal with the actual problems. For many people, having ‘the other’ to blame for everything bad that’s going on is a lot easier than actually _thinking_. I wish I could say that wasn’t the case…..”

 

They all nodded. Max had seen it in his law practice. Chloe had seen it as a cop. Penny had seen it as a victim of a devastating neurological disorder that promised nothing good for her future health.

 

And Lucifer had seen it all, repeating like an endless loop over the centuries and millennia. With the introduction of technology, the suffering happened faster and faster each time the Hydra raised its terrible head. He wondered idly if this was truly what his Father had intended for His ‘human experiment’.

 

Penelope brought them all back to the moment by clapping her hands. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I could use something tall and cold right about now and a little happy conversation. Anybody coming with me?”

 

Lucifer laughed and raised an eyebrow at Chloe. “I’m in,” he said pleasantly, “and I happen to know a place where the drinks are free!”

 

 

 

*********

 

 

 

The next two days at the precinct were almost enjoyable. _Almost_.

 

There weren’t any heavy homicide cases, which was a very good thing, considering how short-staffed they were.

 

The ash residue they’d found in the morgue was human, but there was nothing left that contained any DNA, so it was impossible to say that the remains definitely belonged to Pierce. The security footage had not been tampered with in any way, from the time Dr. Paterson opened the slab just before 8:00 in the evening, until the time the dieners had come to collect the body – only the electronic anomaly at 2:22.

 

Olivia hadn’t been pleased, but she was a practical woman and instructed Chloe to put the whole thing on the back burner. “At least no one has to pay for a funeral,” she had said wryly and left it at that, much to Chloe’s relief.

 

 _Good riddance, you miserable shithead._ And for what seemed the millionth time in the last few days, she thought: _I can’t believe I actually fucked you. Ewww._ (The fact that it had been a rather excellent fuck, was completely beside the point.)

 

Chloe was sipping coffee as she sat at her temporary desk in Pierce’s old office. All his files had been removed and turned over to IA. Anything personal that Pierce had kept there, including a few pieces from his huge rock collection, a smiling picture of himself on a boat holding up a very large salmon, and several books of classic literature had been dumped unceremoniously into boxes and shoved into the evidence locker, though there was nothing of interest in the generic items.

 

On a whim, Chloe had decided to have the furniture removed and the room returned to the way it looked when Olivia occupied it. _She’s coming back next week anyway, may as well make her feel at home._

 

She was surprised at the light tap on her door and glanced up to see Officer Anthony Chiu looking shamefaced at the wall, the desk, anything but his lieutenant. His was one of the three names Lucifer had persuaded John Barron to reveal.

 

“Ma’am? Can I have a word?”

 

Waving him in, she motioned for him to take a seat as she punched Dan’s number.

 

“I’m in the break room just grabbing coffee, I’ll be right up.”

 

Chloe fixed an eye on Officer Chiu. “If you’re here for the reason I think you are, you’ll want your union rep present.” Chiu looked nervous, but nodded in agreement.

 

Before she could even make the merest of small talk, Dan was walking through the door, and she caught sight of Lucifer’s familiar bespoke suit in the bullpen and waved at him through the glass.

 

The Devil was grinning at the young officer as he took a seat on the sofa that once again graced Olivia’s soon-to-be office. “I see you’ve been redecorating,” he looked at Chloe, “no doubt for the return of our former commander?”

 

She shot him a look and fixed her gaze on the young officer, who had grown far more antsy on Lucifer’s arrival. Before she could say anything, the young man jumped in...

 

“Look, I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t know he was doing anything bad, I just wanted to make a few extra bucks. He was the Lieutenant, how could I know what he was up to?”

 

“Slow down, there, pardner,” Dan interrupted Chiu's frantic speech. “Now, just what are you sorry about?”

 

“I _helped_ him! Pierce, I mean. My wife and I just had a baby six months ago and she lost her job. He said I could make some extra bucks on the side, doing a few small jobs for him. It seemed okay; I wasn't breaking the law. Or... I didn't think I was... at first.”

 

“What did he ask you to do?” Chloe studied the young officer. He seemed sincere, and he was obviously upset.

 

“I had to drop stuff off to some guy named Barron. Nothing weird, no weapons or anything, just packages. I never looked inside. Couple times a week a guy paid me in cash, said ‘thanks’ and that was it, I swear! There were a few of us who did these little jobs for him….Benson on the night shift, same as me, just a few drop-offs. We went to the academy together, started here the same month.

 

“Look, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble!

 

“Ma’am,” (Chloe noted Lucifer’s smirk) “I didn’t know he was crooked! I didn’t know he was going to try and kill anyone – I mean, you guys, and Ms Richards. Do I need to get a lawyer? Am I gonna lose my job?” Chiu voice had taken on the sound of desperation.

 

“What you’re going to do,” Dan’s voice was stern, “is make a formal statement of your involvement with anything extracurricular that Pierce asked you to do. And you’re going to tell us the names of everyone you know who might also be involved. I’m your rep; I’ll make sure you get a lawyer if you need one. Right now though, honesty really is the best policy.

 

“Look, I’ll go with you to the Commissioner’s office and you can tell your story directly to Olivia Monroe.” At the young man’s look of alarm, Dan added, a little more patiently, “Don’t worry, she’s tough, but she’s fair. Come on, we might as well head over there now.”

 

Chloe gave her assent and waved the two of them out the door.

 

Lucifer couldn't resist the opportunity to tease. “So, tell me, _ma’am_ , what about the rest of our corrupt little group Barron identified?” He conveniently ignored the stink-eye she flashed at him.

 

The temporary lieutenant thought for a moment. “Walters is still on vacation; I doubt he even knows Pierce is dead. He’s somewhere in Mexico; I think he mentioned Tulum -- it’s south of Cancun. He isn’t due back until next week, and Liv’s people know about him. They’ll be on Walters as soon as he gets back.

 

“I’ve seen him talking to Pierce plenty of times, so he might be our main culprit in the department.” She sighed. “The rest of them seem... well, too small to be real players.”

 

She went quiet for a second. “It’s not that I’m not happy to help root these guys out, but this lieutenant thing, I don’t think I’m cut out for it and I don’t know how these Internal Affairs guys get through a day without losing their minds. I’d much rather be out on the street.” She paused for a moment before adding “with you.”

 

“I can’t argue with that.” His smile was genuine and affectionate.

 

Lucifer had no idea that at that very moment the 'lieutenant' was picturing him naked and definitely _not_ in the evidence locker.

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 _Two more days. Only two more days._ And then Chloe Decker was going to take a much needed vacation. Her mother’s arraignment was on Monday and she would be there to offer moral support. _Please, please let it all go well…._

 

Other than that, she had no definite plans, unless you wanted to call whole days spent doing absolutely nothing a 'plan’.

 

Or maybe she’d spend some of those days with her partner. Because, truth be told, Chloe could not get Lucifer out of her mind. Working together most days had only made it worse. He was just being so damned _helpful_. He was her sounding board and her confidante, supporting her decisions as acting lieutenant and even doing as asked without the usual snarky objections. No cajoling, no off-color remarks (well, _some,_ but they were funny), and no complaining.

 

He didn’t seem to mind having to work with Dan on a case involving the murder of a psychologist, though she did seriously wonder why he’d ditched his normally impeccable style choices for a rather hideous brown suit. He was a handsome devil, no doubt about that, but even _he_ could barely pull off such a loathsome garment, one that certainly looked to be off the rack at a discount store instead of his usual hand-tailored attire. Was it supposed to be some sort of _statement?_

 

 _And, oh yes, he is the Devil._ No getting around that, not any more. Not since she had seen that horrifically burned, scarred face and those fiery red eyes.

 

Yet, she hadn’t been frightened and she couldn’t really figure out why. She'd _never_ been afraid of him, not since the day they’d met. She _should_ be scared, shouldn’t she? _I mean, he’s THE Devil_. But this was _Lucifer_ , she _knew_ him, had spent nearly every day with him for almost three years. He was frustrating, annoying, inappropriate, most definitely _strange_ , obstinate, opinionated and far too full of himself. But also intelligent, unpredictable, and in his own way (when he wasn’t being a stubborn and insolent fool) a very sweet person.

 

 _Sweet?_ She had to laugh at herself. Lucifer would have a complete meltdown if she ever called him ‘sweet’.

 

Chloe wondered what her dad would say if he knew his daughter was in love with the actual Devil. He had never been a judgmental man, or a particularly religious one, but even John Decker would have had an opinion about it. _I’d say ‘follow your heart, my beautiful girl’._ Her father’s voice echoed inside her head, and, though he had been gone for 20 years, she could still see those gentle and understanding eyes…

 

She shook herself back to reality and took a sip of her now-cooled coffee, wrinkling her nose at the taste and deciding it was time to go and have a talk with Ella.

 

The entire precinct had freaked when their bubbly forensics whiz announced she was thinking of leaving them and moving back to Detroit to be with her family. Chloe fervently hoped she wouldn’t go. Yes, Ella often talked too much, but she was a dear soul, cheerful and upbeat. She was also a fine tech and the department certainly didn’t need the loss of yet another competent and honest member of the team.

 

Chloe could see Ella through the glass, talking vehemently and gesturing wildly to... no one.

 

“Ella? You okay?”

 

The detective had no way of knowing that the Angel of Death had been following Ella around the lab, exhorting her to not go back to Detroit, not to let her brothers and parents use and abuse her, to stay right here in LA where she was valued and even loved.

 

Azrael examined Chloe as carefully as if through a microscope. She'd seen how Lucifer looked at this particular human. He had no idea his little sister had been watching him for days since she’d taken care of Cain’s corpse. She’d seen the two of them interact, the little glances they gave when each thought the other wouldn’t notice, the not-so-accidental occasions when they would somehow manage to bump into or touch each other.

 

She had never seen her big brother (what was the word?) _smitten_ before. It was… _interesting._

 

But she was here to convince Ella Lopez to remain at her job, among the friends she had made in Los Angeles, people who truly cared about her, friends that included Rae-Rae’s older celestial brother…

 

 

**********

 

 

 

Max Henderson was loaded for bear, and admitted it as he picked Penelope up at her beach house Friday morning.

 

The arraignment was scheduled for Monday; today, they would go over what to expect in court.

 

He drove a BMW this time (his _Bob Marley and the Wailers_ model _,_ he told Penny) as they headed to his downtown LA office. There, his Loyal Bodyguard and Paid Assassin (also paralegal, office manager and maker of coffee) joined them to review the expected events with the defendant.

 

“This is when the feds will present their case to a judge and outline the charges against you,” Max counseled. “You'll decide how you wish to plead, and perhaps tell the court whether you want a trial with a verdict decided by judge or to go with a jury's decision. They're hoping you'll plead guilty. I'm hoping I can get them to list the evidence they have against you at that time. _We_ know what you had; I want to hear what they _claim_ you had.”

 

Penny was wringing her hands and picking at her cuticles. The attorney smiled and put his hand over hers. “This is your first arrest, correct?”

 

She nodded and swallowed. Her nerves were ragged and she'd slept badly the previous night; this was worse than the first time she'd heard a director yell “Action!” and they weren't even due in court until Monday. Penny was glad that Chloe would be there to support her, and hoped she’d bring her handsome partner with her (it never hurt to have true fans at any appearance).

 

_If those damn handcuffs came out..._

 

“Penny, Penny, _Penny_... look at me.” Max took a firm grip on her shaking hands. “This is your first arrest; you've never even had a misdemeanor charge filed against you.

 

“I hate to put it like this, but you're very small potatoes when it comes to drug-dealing. I can't promise anything, of course, but my guess is that at the worst they'll slap a fine on you and perhaps add community service.

 

“These people love to harass, but don't usually bother to go after the little fish with nearly the enthusiasm they save for the serious criminals. You've already cost them more than they'll get back in fines. Every time they have to send someone to represent them in court they get closer to exceeding the amount they've budgeted for low-level prosecutions.

 

“Do you understand how that works? They're hoping they can wrap this up as fast and as cheaply as possible. Our goal is to make this bust cost more than prosecuting you is worth to them.”

 

Penny understood perfectly. It was similar to the way the entertainment industry worked; movie producers paid more for actors who spoke lines than those who stood silently in the background. Speaking roles were coveted for that reason, and multiple main and secondary characters could bust a production budget faster than one big-name star.

 

At best, Penelope Decker had been a B-lister on the celebrity circuit, and never tried to fool herself into believing she had A-list attributes. Nor was she willing to “sleep” (asinine euphemism!) with any power-brokers in order to crack that particular ceiling.

 

She enjoyed her work just as it was, loved her life, and had no pretentions about her talent, such as it was. Until ME had struck her down she'd even considered doing community theater for the joy of performing in front of a live audience. In fact, a group was casting right now for a local production of “Hello, Dolly!” and a few singing lessons might get her back into her groove again... _if_ she could just get her symptoms stabilized...

 

“Penny, are you with us?” Max and the Assassin were looking at her. She sighed.

 

“Just thinking how similar the movie industry is to the DEA,” she grumbled, and both her questioners laughed.

 

“That's a comparison I never thought I'd hear, but you're right!” the Assassin grinned. “I was an 'extra' in a couple of TV shows when I first moved out here, and thought I was well on my way to an academy award. The director must have laughed his ass off, watching a crowd of extras shoving and pushing to get in front of the camera and emote!”

 

Max allowed the conversation to wander into the quirks and twisted pathways of Hollywood until Penny had relaxed. “Watch the prosecuting attorney the DEA sends us. Penny, I'll bet you dinner that it'll be a young beginner, one of their new kids itchin' to cut teeth on an international drug-smuggling case. I love those kids; they're hilarious!”

 

Penny wasn't so sure. “But... if they're determined and aggressive, won't they push that much harder for a conviction?”

 

Her attorney nodded. “Eh heh... and they'll make a string of small mistakes that will add up when they get to the actual charges. They'll get so wrapped up playing superhero for law 'n order that they'll forget the financial cost of prosecuting a first-time suspect as if she was a hardened criminal.

 

“Then they'll strut back to the office, bursting with pride and self-confidence, and their supervisor will tear 'em a new one!”

 

Penny's jaw dropped, and she gave out with a cackle. “Oh, that's priceless! Max, I've seen that happen so many times in my industry. The 'artistes' have brilliant ideas but totally forget about who is going to pay for them and where that money is going to come from.”

 

She had no idea the same thing often happened with prosecutions.

 

Penny had to admit she was feeling much better about her situation and _that_ had everything to do with the wonderful Max Henderson. He was funny and endearing, and still cut a rather dashing figure with his snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes.

 

Penelope Decker liked the man…. _really_ liked him. She had just the tiniest twinge of guilt as the image of her late husband flashed into her thoughts with that familiar gentle smile.

 

_I’ll always love you, John Decker. But it has been 20 years…_

 

 

 

*******************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late, but, well, life...…….
> 
> One more chapter to go, we should have it up by the weekend. Thanks, all of you, for sticking with our story!


	6. Chapter 9

 

**Chapter 9**

 

Chloe felt a delicious little rush as she hung up the phone. It was early Monday morning and Lucifer had invited her for breakfast at the penthouse.

 

At 2:00 that afternoon they would be attending her mother’s arraignment. Penelope Decker’s was the first case up on the afternoon docket. Chloe had been worried, but this morning she had woken up feeling energized and positive ( _of course that had nothing to do with Lucifer’s breakfast invitation_ ).

 

The household was still quiet when she got in the shower, realizing happily that she didn’t have to soap-and-run as she did on a working Monday morning. She could actually spend a full ten minutes in the shower; what a remarkable concept.

 

Chloe Decker was on vacation and, _oh my_ , she needed it!

 

Of course, the only thing that would spoil it was if things went sideways with Penny. But she’d think about that after standing under a hot shower until the water ran out...

 

Wet but renewed, she headed for the kitchen to find Maze and Trixie giggling over bowls of something crunchy and sugary. They were whispering, always a sign of trouble brewing.

 

“Hey,” Maze greeted her. “Your mother’s, uh, _appointment_ is today, isn’t it? I guess I’d better volunteer to take Trixie to the zoo.”

  

“You? _Volunteer_?” Chloe’s eyebrow went up, and Trixie looked down at her cereal, barely able to suppress a grin. “It wouldn’t be that someone volunteered _you_ , now would it?”

  

“Busted,” Trixie gurgled over a crunchy mouthful and the two of them exchanged a look that screamed ‘conspiracy’.

  

Chloe smiled at them, glad they had patched up their feud.

 

“Actually that’s a great idea. I’ll probably be busy with my mom until late in the afternoon, so the zoo sounds perfect.” She gave Trixie a mom-stare and said “you be good for Maze, ok?” then began looking around for purse and keys.

  

“Where’re you off to, Decker? I thought you were on holiday.”

  

“I have a breakfast date, if you must know,” Chloe laughed.

  

“Oooh,” Trixie beamed at her, “you’re having breakfast with Lucifer!”

  

“Yes, Monkey, I’m having breakfast with Lucifer.” The monkey’s mother wondered how her child could possibly know that, but she left the two of them to get up to whatever mischief she was sure they always found once she was out of earshot.

  

As she closed the door behind her, she heard Trixie whispering loudly to Maze, “Mummy always blushes when she’s going to see Lucifer. She likes him a lot.”

 

“No kidding, little human!” She heard Maze reply, a couple of whispers and then more giggling.

 

 _Is it that obvious?_ She mentally kicked herself, but couldn’t help smiling.

  

 

********

  

Lucifer had made them eggs benedict with large juicy strawberries on the side, his gourmet coffee, and even a small bottle of champagne with freshly-squeezed orange juice “to celebrate you finally being on holiday,” he told her. She knew without bothering to ask that he’d made the Hollandaise himself.

 

They ate on the terrace; the morning air was blessedly cool, considering that fire season had begun. Temperatures were beginning to climb, but so far they were nowhere near the heat they’d reach as the summer dragged on and the state started to burn in earnest.

 

“I can’t believe it’s only been two weeks, since... since _the loft_.” She took a sip of her breakfast cocktail. “It feels like months have gone by, doesn’t it?”

 

Lucifer nodded in agreement and gave her a warm smile.

 

“I’d really like to stop by the precinct on the way to court. I want to say ‘hi’ to Olivia and welcome her back properly, just to find out where they’re at with all the IA stuff.”

 

“Don’t you _ever_ just relax?” Lucifer asked with a laugh, pouring them more coffee. “I bet you’re still wearing your badge, even though you’re on vacation.”

 

“I am not!” she protested, but instinctively reached for her belt to check.

 

“Made you look,” he teased and waited for the inevitable stink eye.

 

Instead she just looked at him with a little smile. “You don’t know how glad I am to have three weeks off. I can’t remember the last time I took this much leave all at once... and in the summer, too. I feel like I’ve been stretched pretty thin these last few weeks.

 

"And, to answer your question, _relaxing_ is precisely what I intend to do.”

 

Lucifer didn’t say anything about the brilliant idea that suddenly popped into his head, instead offering to drive, and slightly taken aback when Chloe readily agreed ( _when did that change?_ )

 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she began, wondering why she suddenly felt so shy and deciding she was being ridiculous. “I want to talk to you about... _us_.”

 

He looked down at his right hand and began studying the onyx and silver ring he always wore.

 

“Is there an ‘us’?” he asked quietly.

 

She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I’d _like_ there to be, if, uh, you think it might be a good idea. I, uh, well, I don’t know why this is so hard to say...” He looked up to see the little furrow in her brow that she always got when searching for the right words.

 

Instead of waiting for her to continue, he raised her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. “It’s a deal, my dear detective, if that is what you truly desire.”

 

 _He just can’t help himself, can he? He’s the Devil._ _But I’m good with that. It feels like everything’s okay… Finally!_

 

 

**********

 

Olivia was sitting at her old desk, admiring the enormous bouquet that graced the credenza. It dominated the room: huge red gerberas, dark pink lilies and deep purplish blue irises, a stunning arrangement that had been waiting for her when she arrived to begin her temporary reassignment. Six months should be plenty long enough to vet someone suitable to replace the late and unlamented Lieutenant Pierce.

 

 _Yeah, and vet the bugger right down to the short and curlies,_ she thought with a frown. _Don’t want to repeat that shit-show again._

 

She sighed and looked at the pile of files Chloe had stacked neatly on the desk. Reaching for her coffee, she was surprised to see Detective Decker and her civilian consultant just about to knock on her office door. She waved them in.

 

“I must say,” Lucifer grinned at her, “the place looks a lot better with you behind that desk!”

 

The Lieutenant noted that Chloe’s hair was just slightly… ruffled. _Hmm, and they arrived together, too._ Olivia had no way of knowing that Lucifer had kissed his detective nearly breathless before they both suddenly remembered they had Things To Do that day.

 

“I thought your mother’s hearing was this morning, Decker?”

 

“It’s supposed to be at 2:00. We just wanted to pop in and say ‘welcome back’ – you don’t know how glad I am to see you sitting there!”

 

“Well, since you’re both here, I really appreciate the way you guys have handled everything – and these,” she pointed to the files. “It’s good work, Decker. I think we’ve got a finger on everyone Pierce was involved with. Chiu was cooperative, and Benson too. Turns out a couple of others helped on small things, but none of them seem to have been involved too deeply.

 

“Walters is still in the wind; supposed to be back Wednesday. If he doesn’t show up, we’ll find him.”

 

She shot a look at Lucifer. “Don’t we have the best bounty hunter in the state?”

 

Chloe and Lucifer exchanged a meaningful glance.

 

“Speaking of the remarkable Ms. _Smith_ ,” Olivia continued, “my guys got some pretty weird statements from two of the men at the hospital. The other one is still in an induced coma, something about reducing swelling on the brain.

 

“We couldn’t get much out of either of them that made sense, except they both mentioned a certain ‘bad-ass black chick’ who tore through Pierce’s digs – let me get this right – ‘like a ninja hurricane’,” she laughed out loud. “Remind you two of anyone?”

 

Chloe and Lucifer both remained silent, but neither could repress their smiles.

 

“Take a look at this,” Olivia said, handing Chloe a piece of paper, Lucifer looking over her shoulder.

 

“Wow, are these the guys from...?”

 

“Pierce’s warehouse? Yup. Seems whatever _hurricane_ managed to blow through the place took out some rather nasty folks. Check out some of the names!”

 

Chloe let out a soft whistle. Pierce’s warehouse was outside their jurisdiction and the investigations had been handled by another precinct, then kicked up to the city’s Major Crime squad. Nine dead bodies; all involved to a greater or lesser degree in much of the city’s criminal activities – drugs, murder, extortion, even human trafficking.

 

Olivia grinned at them. “Let’s just say ‘good riddance’ – I don’t think anyone is going to want to bust their butts to find out who did this, and it’s a little hard to believe that one woman could have taken out... what? _12 guys?_

 

“Whoever is responsible did the City of Los Angeles a big favor. Personally, I think we should be thanking that individual. Instead, we’re writing it off to a couple of his gang turning on each other.”

 

Olivia smiled at the two. “I also want to thank you both for convincing Lopez to stay in town. Her work is exemplary and I’m glad she decided not to leave us. I’ve been to Detroit in the winter, and it sure wouldn’t be much of a choice for me!

 

“Now, what the hell are you doing here? Decker, you’re on vacation! _Go!_ ” She waved them out of her office and watched as the pair made their way to the elevator, noting that Chloe took her partner’s hand as they waited.

 

 _About time!_ Olivia was grinning as she sat down and began to go through the stack of files…

 

 

*********

 

 

The drive to the courthouse should have taken longer, Penny thought. Maybe, about four or five _hours_ longer, after she'd had the chance to down a shot or two of liquid courage. Was everyone this nervous on their way to court? What was the worst that could... she abandoned that train of thought quickly.

 

Never mind Martha Stewart, Penelope Decker did _not_ want to add 'convict' to her list of career highlights.

 

Chloe and Lucifer arrived at almost the same moment as they did. Seeing how nervous her mother appeared, Chloe wrapped her in a big hug, whispering “Don’t worry, mom; you’ve got the best attorney in town.”

 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Penny returned the hug, feeling somewhat calmer as they made their way into the courtroom and took their seats.

 

As per her attorney's instructions, she studied the DEA's lawyer assigned to prosecute her case, a young red-headed girl who looked like she was still in high school.

 

But so had the agents who arrested her when she tried to walk through the border security gate into the US with the rest of the tourists. Remembering John's number one rule when dealing with cops, Penelope had kept her mouth shut when they pulled the narcotics out of her shopping bag. She knew that as an older white woman, if she was polite and respectful that was how she'd be treated.

 

If her skin had been darker, though...

 

It seemed horribly unfair. John had loathed racism in all its forms, and never hesitated to demand absolute professionalism from his fellow officers when dealing with civilians.

 

“People will give you all sorts of reasons not to like them,” he'd told Chloe after they'd been watching the show _Cops!_ one evening. He got a kick out of parodying what the officers were saying to each other and those involved in the endless, petty incidents that make up every street cop's shift. Chloe, in turn, usually took on the suspect’s role, and the father-and-daughter team decided they would make a terrific nightclub act.

 

But, suddenly, John became serious with his girl. “You won't need to go looking for reasons not to like someone, not to trust them,” he told her. “Judging a man based on the color of his skin is flat out _wrong_ , Chloe. Might as well judge a person based on their shoe size. Smart cops don't let themselves be distracted by racism; it makes the job that much harder.”

 

At the time, Chloe was a high school senior and had been studying 20th century American political history. “President Johnson said 'If you can convince the lowest white man that he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket.'"

 

Her father nodded. “'Hell, he'll empty his pockets for you.' It's true, honey. We judge people far too often by how our thinking about them makes us feel, instead of by what they do and say.

 

“'...by the content of their character' is the ideal, but we don't live up to it very often.”

 

At that moment, Penny thought she'd never loved him more. But in less than a year, John Decker lay dead on a convenience store floor, and a man with dark skin stood accused of murdering him. Strange, how the thought of the killer's skin color rarely affected her pain and anger. It just wasn't an... _issue_ , although a few friends had wondered if perhaps now she wasn't as liberal in her attitudes.

 

But the man _did_ insist he hadn't gone into the store intending to kill a cop, and Penny believed him. Until a year ago, John's death was nothing more than a robbery gone wrong, and while she was glad the shooter received a life sentence, his race never affected how she felt about people whose skin was darker than hers.

 

She hoped.

 

So was she being... _ageist_ by assuming Max's young opponent would present a less than a stellar prosecution? Well, experience counts for a lot, and Max had been at this a very long time.

 

She gave Chloe and Lucifer a smile and steeled herself for what was coming.

 

 

***************

 

 

Less than 30 minutes later, five delighted people left the courtroom, barely able to contain themselves from high-fiving each other. Max and the Paid Assassin were laughing, Lucifer was congratulating them, and Penny and Chloe both looked somewhat stunned by what had just occurred.

 

 _Wait, what?_ Wasn't there supposed to be a _trial?_ Or even a hearing? An arraignment? _Something?_

 

All Penny had seen were three people gathered before the judge, papers being waved about, fingers pointing in the air, and just a touch of annoyed argument from the redhead. She saw the judge sign several forms, stamp two, tap his gavel once (it wasn't a very loud tap; did that mean anything?) and suddenly Max was escorting her out the courtroom door and into the lobby.

 

“Uh... I think I missed something,” Penny remarked. “Am I on my way to jail? Sentenced to house arrest? Do I get a fashionable ankle monitor?”

 

Max kissed her. _Kissed_ her, right there in the lobby of the court house, complete with a loud smooching smack.

 

 _Hmmmm... chalk that up as a win all by itself_ , although she'd prefer the romantic version, and not in a busy lobby with the Paid Assassin looking on, if you don't mind.

 

“My dear Ms. Decker, we've won!”

 

The expressionless Assassin nodded. Chloe was still confused.

 

“Wha...? When did we win? What does that _mean_ , Max?”

 

“Yeah, what’s going on? I couldn’t hear what you were saying to the judge,” Chloe added.

 

He grinned at her. “I shall explain all at our next stop. This calls for celebratory drinks, and we're going to one of my favorite places.”

 

The Assassin pouted. He was headed back to the office via Uber, paperwork in tow. No early happy hour for him, but as the owner of Henderson Law Offices (a sign made by a friend's child in woodshop that read “Better call Max!” was hanging on his wall), Max could drink whenever he damn well pleased.

 

The bar was around the corner from the law courts, frequented mostly by the suits in the legal profession and sometimes their very happy clients.

 

Lucifer suggested a fine Krug to celebrate, but apparently they were not in “that” kind of bar. The group had to settle for a mediocre Sonoma white, but nobody complained as the four clinked glasses in a toast to Penny’s good fortune.

 

“So, are you going to get around to telling us what happened?” Chloe asked him, as her mother was about to say the same.

 

Max fanned several legal documents out on the table. “They dropped the charges, Penny! And without prejudice, so they can't refile later. Not that they'd bother – I hate to say this to a beautiful woman, but you really were small potatoes compared to what's coming across the border every day."

 

Penny studied Max's face. He was smiling, and it was genuine, which meant... she'd _won!!_ Rather, he'd won it for her.

 

“Max, you're wonderful!” _and not just because you kept me out of prison,_ she added to herself. “So, why did they decide not to come after me?”

 

He sighed. “Their tests showed the drugs were all fakes. You got taken, Penny. Which is a very good thing, considering.”

 

Lucifer and Chloe burst out laughing, and Penelope Decker shook her head in disbelief. “It is, and it isn't. I'm happy for myself, sure, but my pain group is still in deep trouble. We were hoping we could set up a reliable supplier, even if it meant one of us had to go down and pick them up. I guess we should have expected this.”

 

Lucifer smiled at her. “I do have an acquaintance that owes me a favor or two, Penelope. And he’s a lot more reliable than the people you were dealing with.” The Devil’s thoughts were on the rather substantial stash locked in his safe, and it occurred to him that sharing might be the generous thing to do.

 

“Um, do you think it’s really appropriate to talk about this here? I _am_ a cop, in case you’d forgotten!” Chloe laughed and finished off the last of what had to be a more recent vintage than what Max and Lucifer were accustomed to.

 

Max chuckled. “Look at us: A cop and a lawyer talking openly about committing major felonies like it was just part of daily life. But I guess it is, now.” His face became serious.

 

“I remember what I had to go through to locate what Mari needed until Lucifer came along. This is what our government has turned us into; it's so easy to demonize people in pain who are desperate for relief until it's _you_ who can't get the medication you need for yourself or someone you love.”

 

Penny nodded as Max put the papers into his briefcase. “I thought I’d at least get the chance to explain my situation to the judge, tell him why we need opiates, what our lives are like, but it wouldn't have made a difference, would it?”

 

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Not at all. One, they won't believe anything you tell them. Two, they don't care. They _seriously_ don't care.

 

“But today we won and that was a middle finger to all their petty rules and policies.” He raised his glass in a toast.

 

“And I would like to celebrate properly by taking this lovely lady out to dinner.” Chloe noted the color rise in Penny’s cheeks and looked over at Lucifer.

 

The Devil looked down at his detective. “I do believe that is our cue to leave you two alone!”

 

Chloe hugged her mother closely. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said before joining Lucifer as he paid the tab, but not before he’d ordered another bottle sent to their table.

 

When Chloe turned for a last look, she saw Max Henderson lean across the table and kiss Penelope Decker. And it was a _real_ kiss. Which did send her thoughts, rather too quickly, to a certain _other_ pair of very kissable lips…

 

 

*********

 

**Chapter 10**

 

Most kids have really boring relatives. My grandma is cool, though. Gramma Penny is an actor – she's been in movies and on TV and she's really fun, even though Mom gets mad at her sometimes. She wanted my mom to be an actor too, and Mom starred in one movie but she had to take her top off and show her boobs, and the movie went to DVD and now it's no big deal to see boobs on TV. If you ever watch HBO you know what I mean. They show boys' butts and stuff like that, which is kinda boring but Maze says pretty soon it'll stop being boring.

 

Like I care.

 

Maze is our roommate, and she's even more fun than Gramma Penny! She knows martial arts and throws knives! She’s fierce and cool. That’s because she’s a _demon_. For real -- she showed me her demon face once. She pretended it was a mask, but I know it was real.

 

My name is Beatrice Decker-Espinoza, but everyone calls me Trixie. This is my journal and I put a password on it so my mom can’t read it.

 

I’m going to be a writer one day! I used to want to be President of Mars, but there are no people on Mars yet so I guess I’ll have to wait until I’m old, maybe even as old as Gramma. I know we’ll be on Mars by then and that will be so cool.

 

But I'm gonna tell you about Granma Penny's party, which was yesterday and not as boring as it sounds.

  

Okay, old people's parties are usually dumb, because they sit around talking about stuff nobody cares about and drinking things that taste awful. They don't even have cake or cookies, which I don't understand because if it's a party there should be cake and cookies, right?

 

This party was different, though. There were _two_ kinds of cake, including chocolate, which is like my very most favorite, with fudge frosting, so that made the party better, right there. Granma's friends from her pain group came, Maze and Mom and Dad were there, and Lucifer brought the cake especially for me! He got a catering service to bring the food, which was better than I expected because they had these neat little things that were two bites instead of a whole meal so if you didn't like it you could throw it away and nobody yelled at you about “Trixie, don't waste food.”

 

Lucifer is my mom’s boyfriend and you know what’s even cooler than Maze being a demon? Lucifer is The Devil! No, really. He tells everyone he is and he always tells the truth. No one believes him, isn’t that silly?

 

The Devil is supposed to be bad, but he isn’t. He’s really funny. And I can always trick him into giving me money. That’s so cool.

 

Anyway, Gramma Penny has a boyfriend now too! His name is Max, he's a lawyer, and he has cool cars. Gramma likes him and I think he really likes her because I saw him kissing her a few times, and once he kissed her like they do in movies. It was kinda weird – old people kissy-facing. I didn't think they were supposed to do that. Grampa died before I was born and Mom says he'd be happy for Gramma Penny because she's happy with Max, so I guess it's okay. Still creepy, though. I mean, they're _old_.

 

When I asked what the party was for, Dad kind of looked away and said “It's just because everyone’s happy,” but I know better. Wanna know why? _Gramma Penny got busted!!_ She was smuggling drugs into the US from Mexico because she and her friends hurt all the time and the doctors aren't allowed to prescribe them drugs to kill the pain. That's, like, _so mean!_

 

Max got her off because they had to drop charges when they found out the drugs were fake. Cool joke on the border patrol, huh? People think kids don't listen when adults are talking, but we know when they start whispering to listen really close because that's when you find out the stuff they don't want you to know.   And I’m almost 11 anyway!

 

Most of Gramma’s pain friends were there; some of them were in wheelchairs or had walkers and canes. Barbara let me roll around in her chair, which doesn't work on the sand but is really fun on pavement and goes super fast if you push hard on the wheels with your hands. We had races in the street with the wheelchairs, and I won a couple!

 

Dad yelled at me to get out of the street before some idiot ran me over, but Ben (he's another one of Gramma's friends from the pain group) was racing me and he yelled back that the cars could go bad word themselves, but he got us up on the sidewalk, which wasn't as much fun but still okay. Ben can do cool things in his wheelchair, like go up stairs backwards! Really, he can hop it on the big wheels, which looks way cool, and spin around fast on just one wheel. He did that with me sitting in his lap, and we tipped over in the grass but nobody got hurt and I was laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants!

 

We had the party on the beach behind Gramma's house, and there was music and dancing, even for people who don't walk very well. Lucifer and Mom danced, and Dad and Ella. Ella is a forensics tech, she figures out how people got killed! She’s really nice.

 

Dad was kinda sad, but I think he had fun. He was sad because Charlotte got killed. She was my Dad's girlfriend, and she got murdered. That made everyone sad. The man that my mom was going out with killed her! I don’t know why she went out with him. He pretended to be nice, but he really wasn’t. He tried to kill Lucifer’s brother and Charlotte got in the way. Lucifer killed him because he was going to kill my mom!

 

I wasn’t supposed to listen, but I heard Mom and Lucifer doing what she calls Serious Talking, when they thought I was asleep. I heard Mom saying thank you to Lucifer for saving her life, then she started laughing and I guess whatever they said was okay, because she seemed happier after that, and so did he.

 

People think the Devil is bad, but he really isn’t. I think my mom loves him a lot. He’s the only one who ever calls me Beatrice, but I like it when he says it, he has an English accent and that makes it sound special.

  

The party was just like watching Law and Order, with cops and lawyers and Ella representing the crime lab and Gramma Penny as the drug smuggler (only she was one of the good guys).

 

The pain group people started talking about some of their friends who couldn't make it to the party because they were stuck at home, which sounds really bad. I started to think I'd rather die than be stuck at home when everyone else was out having fun, and that was when Penny said she was going to call someone named Cherie, who was one of the group that didn't get out much.

 

It stopped being fun, then. I guess that's when I realized what it meant to always be hurting and not be able to do anything.

 

 

*****************

  

“You have to let it ring for a couple of minutes,” Vic suggested. “Her phone's tied into her computer, and if she's online in a game she might not answer right away.”

  

Cherie, it turned out, was one of the nation's top run-and-gun video gamers. Her online fans thought she was a guy in his early 20s who was a part-time hacker and broke into companies that tested on animals, skewing their data without them knowing it. ‘His’ stated intention was to drive them out of business, but whether Cherie actually did what her male avatar claimed or only talked about it was undetermined. And she wasn't admitting to anything.

 

Penny motioned for Max to pour her yet another cup of champagne. She'd nixed Lucifer's attempts to bring his lead crystal goblets onto the beach, and the group was managing nicely with the ubiquitous red plastic cups. Fine champagne, consumed in the company of friends, while watching the sun set into the Pacific and hearing the whisper of waves coasting onto the sand, was as glorious as any human had a right to expect.

  

While the phone rang, she watched Lucifer attempt without success to ride herd on Trixie and two of her friends. Penny had invited them after her granddaughter complained that a party for adults meant she wouldn't have anyone to talk to. The kids had spent the afternoon bodysurfing and building sandcastles, with Lucifer (who, barefoot, had tossed his suit jacket over a 'Lifeguard Not On Duty' sign and rolled up his pant legs) showing them what the Emperor Constantine's palace in Constantinople had looked like, complete with turrets and murder holes for pouring “boiling oil down on raider's heads!”

 

Predictably, the girls were fascinated, and Paisley demanded to know what the unwelcome visitors did when baptized with flaming sludge. Lucifer was well into a description of their reactions, complete with realistic howls and screams, when Chloe intervened and suggested a less... _thrilling_ topic might be in order.

  

Jennifer wanted to know if Lucifer meant Constantine “...like John Constantine, the demon-hunter!” Lucifer was, predictably, horrified by the comparison and segued quickly into a history lesson that was of less interest than the boiling oil and was then interrupted by Trixie, who demanded to know where the people in his castle went to the bathroom, as his floor plan seemed to have a shortage of toilets. This offered Lucifer an opportunity to explain third century A.D. hygiene and the various uses moss could be put to, delighting and grossing out the girls.

  

“Would seaweed work?” Trixie had asked, sending the group into peals of hilarity and leading to (no parent would have been surprised) the throwing of seaweed in all directions, accompanied by earsplitting shrieks in a range barely audible to the human ear, although produced at a volume capable of shattering glass.

  

Penelope fervently hoped that when Paisley's parents arrived to pick her up (and, oh my, weren't _they_ going to have their hands full when that girl got a bit older!) they would fail to notice their daughter's breath. Penny had to step in when she noticed the child helpfully gathering up abandoned glasses and finishing off the contents before throwing them in the trash.

  

At the moment, all three youngsters were “helping” Lucifer build a bonfire from driftwood and newspaper. From the looks of it, Paisley hadn't been the only one finishing off discarded alcoholic beverages; the kids were having trouble staying on their feet and every sentence ended in giggles, much to the annoyance of her daughter's “friend.”

 

Poor Lucifer. The man obviously had no experience with what he referred to as “small humans”. But he _was_ trying, and the kids seemed to think he hung the moon, judging by the way they followed him around. As he coaxed the fire to ignite, the girls wrapped themselves in beach towels and sank into the warm sand, content to stare into the flames while Mazikeen (her daughter's roommate, and what an interesting character _that_ lady was!) told their fortunes based on some obscure system known only to herself involving small rocks and sticks.

 

Penny remembered the red eyes she had glimpsed just a few days ago and wondered again just _who_ Lucifer Morningstar was.

 

Penelope Decker had made a good living as an actor for more than 40 years, and knew when people were performing. She had a sixth sense for predators, for people who weren’t just more trouble than they were worth but actually really _were_ ‘mad, bad, and dangerous’ to be around; people like Harvey Weinstein. Lucifer never once set off any red flags or warning bells. She had a friend run a background check on him, without (of course) telling Chloe. Her only child would most definitely not be pleased if she knew her mother was checking up on her boyfriends.

  

She watched as her daughter and Lucifer escaped the children and walked down the beach, and smiled when she saw him bend to kiss her. The two stood with their arms around each other for a few moments and she saw Chloe nodding at something he’d whispered to her before making their way slowly back to the fire.

 

_Hmm. Wonder what they are cooking up. As if I can’t take a wild guess!_

 

“I see things seem to have warmed up for those two,” Max remarked, grinning at Penny. “They do make a rather handsome couple, don’t they.”

  

“That they do,” Penny agreed, “Almost as handsome a couple as us!” Both of them laughed out loud.

  

“What’s so funny, Mom?”

  

“Nothing, sweetheart. I’m just glad to see you and Lucifer getting on so well. You two have wasted enough time.”

 

_“MOM!”_

  

“I’m your mother. I want you to be happy, that’s all. We can’t help ourselves; we’re hardwired to protect the lives we created and pushed out of our own bodies.” Chloe’s eyes rolled upwards (she’d heard that statement quite often in her life).

  

“I’m going in for a minute and getting another bottle of wine before this conversation goes any further south…..”

  

“I’ll join you,” Max chimed in, “I’m feeling like brewing up some of your mom’s wonderful Marley coffee” as he followed her into the house, sensing that Penny wanted to have a private word.

  

Penny watched Lucifer’s eyes follow her daughter, and pulled him out of earshot of the girls. “I had someone check up on you, Mr. Morningstar.” She smiled at his surprise. “He discovered you and Mazikeen ‘Smith’ appeared out of nowhere a few years ago. The person who ran the background check on you had upper-level military clearance, so if you existed prior to 2011 he would have found something.”

  

Lucifer was staring at her with wide eyes. _Where is this coming from?_

  

“He found _nothing_. Therefore… you didn’t exist. At least, not _here_. Not on Earth. And the first time I saw how you looked at Chloe, I knew whoever you were, _what_ ever you are, my daughter and granddaughter are safe with you.

 

“And that’s all I need to know.

 

“Lucifer, my daughter loves you. And I believe that you love her. Now I’m telling you exactly what I told her: Don’t waste a minute more of this uncertain life dithering around trying to keep your heart from being broken. That ship has sailed.”

 

He took her in his arms. “Que sera sera, Penelope?”

 

“Exactly, dear.” She gave the Devil a fierce hug. “Welcome to the family.”

 

 _What is it with these Decker women? Are they **all** remarkable? _ Lucifer glanced skyward as Chloe’s mother made her way slowly toward the children and Maze as they clustered around the fire.

 

Penny watched Trixie's eyes sag and snap open; the youngster was determined to remain awake until the bitter end. Penny took a seat on the bench behind them. The giggles had died down, small heads drooped, and relative peace and quiet descended on the little group as the tide gently sent wavelets over the sand in the endless rhythm of the sea...

 

Penelope's eyes snapped open and she shook her head to clear her vision. Max was sitting next to her, smiling as she'd dozed, and put his arm around her shoulders. She noticed several of their group had gathered up their things and were heading for their rides home, and caught a glimpse of parents walking down the sand to retrieve their children. It was, all in all, the end of a perfect day.

 

After saying their goodnights, the remainder of the celebrants walked back to the house, where Dan and Ella were quietly chatting over steaming cups of coffee.

  

But what was that ringing sound...? Penny glanced at the computer that still sat on the kitchen counter and realized Cherie hadn't answered her phone. The call had been attempting to connect for well over an hour... _where was her friend?_ It wasn't like she could just get up and walk away; _somebody_ had to be there... Cherie was never far from her computer.

 

“Hello?”

 

Penny stared at the screen, waiting for a video connection.

  

“Hello? Are you calling for Cherie?”

 

 

***********************

 

 

When Dad and Ella drove me home, Mom and Gramma Penny were sitting in the living room and Gramma was kind of crying. I thought she'd had fun, and she said she had but just got some bad news. This friend of hers, one of the pain people who hardly ever left her house, had died. But the way she paused before she said “died” I knew it was more than that.

 

So after Dad thought I’d gone to sleep, I got up and listened at the door. It's really sad, and if I tell this part I may cry but I should tell it anyway because of Cherie. That's who died. See, her doctor was writing her prescriptions for pain pills because her body was messed up, but he had to stop because it would get him in trouble. Which meant she'd be hurting really, really bad all the time, and like she can't even scratch her leg if it itches! I'd want to die, too, if my body did that to me.

 

So while we were at the party she sent her attendant to Trader Joe's to buy a bunch of stuff for her, and right after she left, Cherie took a razor blade and cut an artery in her arm! Gramma said she sat in her wheelchair and bled to death, and left notes for everyone she cared about so they wouldn't feel bad about her dying without saying goodbye. I guess you can't say goodbye if you don't want anyone to stop you.

  

I asked Mom about it today and we had a Serious Talk. She told me Cherie must’ve been brave to do that, because it's not easy to cut down into your arm deep enough to find a vein and it must’ve really hurt. I asked her why she did it and Mom said that without pain drugs staying alive would be like torture.

  

I don't know if I'd be brave enough to do that. I don't ever want to find out, either. Lucifer looked really, _really_ angry when he heard what Cherie “was forced to do”, like Gramma said. The government _made_ her doctor stop giving people pain meds or they'd take his license away, which is a rotten thing to do to people, if you ask me.

 

Lucifer said a bad swear word, then he said something to Maze in a funny language and she nodded. I heard him talking in that language once before, and he said it's called ‘Annokin’ -- but not like Anakin Skywalker. I was going to look it up but I forgot to ask him how to spell it. Maybe it's _akashick_ or something like that. Anyway, he told me that people can't speak it, only angels and demons, but I'm going to learn it some day and surprise him. He doesn't know I already know two words of it. I’ll ask Maze to teach me some more. She’s already teaching me how to fight like a ninja and she really likes playing tricks on Lucifer.

 

I know what I want to do: I'd go to all the mean people in the government and say those words Lucifer used and make them hurt as bad as Cherie did. Maybe that's what Maze is going to do. I hope so.

  

Because yesterday was a really good day but it ended up making everyone sad because a nice person is dead and the people who make the rules don't even know what they did. And they don't care, either.

  

There's nothing I can do now, I'm just a kid, but when I grow up I'm gonna be a lawyer like Max and take mean people to court and maybe put them in jail. Or I could be a reporter. I can find out the names of whoever does mean things to people like Cherie and put those names on TV, so everyone would look at them and frown and not talk to them. Maybe I could even be president and make laws that say you can't take medicine away from sick people. I’d like that.

 

Or maybe I could get Lucifer to teach me how to make my eyes go all red. If I had red eyes like Lucifer I could just show up in their offices and tell them to stop being dickish. And if they didn't, I'd give 'em the ol' redeye, like he does when he gets really mad at people! Lucifer is the devil, but he's not mean and he’s really funny. He says he punishes bad people and I think that’s cool. He tells everyone who he really is, but nobody believes him. My mom finally figured it out, and I'm pretty sure Gramma knows, but Dad is clueless. All dads are clueless, right?

  

Anyway, I’ve decided I’m gonna get red eyes like he has and I'll go up to mean people and tell them to clean up their act or they'll be sorry and then flash those eyes! I don't think Lucifer wants to be the devil any more because of Mom and me. He says he's never going back to Hell.

 

Wow, maybe I can have his old job when I grow up!! I'll ask him...

 

Beatrice Decker-Espinoza, the world's first female Devil! Like a superhero, but my power is scaring bad guys.

  

_I like it!!_

  


-30-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it folks! We've come to the end of our little tale. Hope you all enjoyed it, and thanks so much for reading and commenting! We both learned a few things in the course of writing this and had a lot of fun as well...

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Dawnharper, long gone and deeply missed. If I'd known then what I know now...


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